IRLF. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


A3 


LORIN     MOORUCK; 


AND    OTHER    INDIAN    STORIES. 


BY 

GEORGE  TRUMAN   KERCHEVAL. 


BOSTON: 

J.    STILMAN   SMITH   &  CO., 

3  HAMILTON  PLACE. 

1888. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1888,  by 

J.  STILMAN  SMITH  &  COMPANY, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


TYPOGRAPHY  BY  J.  S.  GUSHING  &  Co.,  BOSTON. 


INTRODUCTORY  LETTER. 


IT  will  interest  the  readers  who  are  far  from  the 
frontier  to  know  the  impression  made  by  these  stories 
upon  those  whose  lives  have  thrown  them  into  close 
relations  with  the  American  Indians. 

The  following  letter  is  from  Bishop  Whipple  of 
Minnesota,  whose  life  has  been  so  largely  given  to 
the  elevation  of  the  Indian  tribes. 

It  would  certainly  add  to  the  interest  of  the  book 
if  readers  know  that  the  stories  are  not  merely  founded 
on  fact  in  a  general  way,  but  that  the  incidents  de 
scribed  are  substantially  true.  For  obvious  reasons 
the  real  names  of  parties  referred  to  are  not  printed, 
but  the  reader  may  be  assured  that  there  has  been 
no  exaggeration  for  the  artistic  purpose  of  heightening 
the  effect. 

E.  E.   HALE. 


PREFACE. 


I  HAVE  been  asked  to  write  a  preface  to  this  book. 
As  I  read  these  sad  stones,  it  recalled  the  weary  days 
of  my  first  visits  to  the  Indian  country,  where  I  saw 
pictures  of  degradation  and  sorrow,  and  heard  stories  of 
oppression  and  wrong  which  would  appall  the  stoutest 
heart.  No  Christian  could  look  on  such  scenes,  and 
not  cry  out  as  David  Livingstone  did  in  Africa,  "O 
God  !  when  will  this  great  sore  be  healed? " 

The  North  American  Indian  is  the  noblest  type  of 
a  wild  man  on  the  earth.  He  believes  in  a  Great 
Spirit,  he.  has  an  unquestioned  faith  in  a  future  life, 
he  has  a  passionate  love  for  his  children,  and  will  lay 
down  his  life  for  his  people. 

The  government  of  the  United  States  inherited 
from  colonial  days  a  mischievous  Indian  policy.  The 
scattered  colonists  could  not  ask  Red  Men,  who  out 
numbered  them  a  hundred  to  one,  to  become  their 
wards.  Therefore  they  recognized  these  'nomadic 
tribes  as  Indian  nations,  sovereign  people  living 
within  our  borders,  not  subject  to  our  laws,  with  no 
personal  rights  of  property,  no  homes,  and  no 
government. 


VI  PREFACE. 

We  knew  their  chiefs  had  only  advisory  power,  and 
were  simple  leaders  of  a  savage  clan ;  when  civilization 
had  destroyed  their  game,  we  builded  almshouses  to 
train  up  savage  paupers,  we  allowed  evil  influences 
to  drag  them  down  to  a  depth  of  degradation  their 
heathen  fathers  had  never  known.  The  agent  was 
appointed  as  a  reward  for  political  service,  and  he 
accepted  his  office  to  acquire  a  fortune  on  a  salary 
of  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year.  The  white  settlers 
coveted  the  Indian's  land,  and  every  treaty  had 
behind  it  those  who  desired  to  use  the  Indian  as 
a  key  to  unlock  the  public  treasury.  There  is  always 
on  the  frontier  a  class  of  reckless  men  who  wantonly 
commit  acts  of  violence  against  Indians. 

The  Indian  knows  no  law  but  the  "  lex  talionis  "  — 
"an  eye  for  an  eye,"  "life  for  life."  The  blow  falls 
on  the  innocent,  and  the  guilty  escape.  A  Christian 
Indian  woman  died  by  the  violence  of  white  men  — 
a  brutal  mixed-blood  killed  an  Indian  woman  in  the 
presence  of  three  others.  The  Indians  arrested  him, 
and  took  him  to  the  nearest  fort.  He  was  put  in 
the  guard-house ;  after  three  months  the  Secretary 
of  War  ordered  his  discharge,  because  there  was  no 
law  to  punish  an  Indian  murderer.  If  an  Indian  is 
suspected  of  committing  crimes  of  violence  against 
whites,  lynch  law  usually  settles  the  matter  without 
judge  or  jury. 

Behind  every  Indian  war   there  are  causes  which 


PREFACE.  Vll 

would  arouse  the  indignation  of  any  civilized  nation. 
I  mention  only  one.  An  officer  of  the  United 
States  Army  was  crossing  a  desert  country  with 
border  men  as  guides.  They  came  to  an  Indian 
village.  There  was  no  one  in  the  village  but  chil 
dren.  The  kind-hearted  officer  gave  the  children  food, 
and  filled  their  calabashes  with  water.  Later  in  the 
day  he  missed  his  guides ;  and  when  they  came  into 
camp  at  evening  he  asked,  "Where  have  you  been?" 
"To  fix  those  Indian  papooses."  "What  did  you 
do?"  "We  threw  them  over  the  precipice  and  killed 
them  :  nits  make  lice." 

Thank  God,  the  heart  of  the  nation  has  been 
touched.  There  is  hope  of  entire  reform.  We  can 
not  bring  back  the  dead  or  undo  the  record  which  is 
a  stain  upon  our  nation  :  we  can  do  justly.  Congress 
has  passed  the  Dawes  severally  bill,  which  provides  for 
personal  rights  of  property  and  future  citizenship. 
The  law  will  not  execute  itself.  Citizenship  is  a  bless 
ing  only  to  men  prepared  for  it.  In  the  old  territo 
rial  days  there  was  a  law  which  gave  Indians  the 
right  to  vote  who  wore  civilized  dress.  I  have  heard 
of  a  cunning  mixed-blood  who  passed  a  whole  tribe 
of  Indians  through  one  hickory  shirt  and  trousers 
between  sunrise  and  sunset.  The  Indian  must  have 
the  protection  of  law,  but  not  law  administered  as  it 
was  by  white  men  to  the  men  of  Wallowa. 

The  Indian  Bureau  is  a  thousand- fold  better  than 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

no  guardianship.  This  reform  needs  and  must  have 
the  best  efforts,  the  wisest  care  of  the  largest-hearted 
men  of  the  nation,  or  "the  last  state  will  be  worse 
than  the  first." 

I  believe  under  such  a  commission  as  that  recom 
mended  by  President  Cleveland  this  blessed  work 
will  be  accomplished. 

If  these  stories  of  George  Truman  Kercheval  shall 
deepen  the  sympathy  and  love  which  goes  before  all 
effort  for  the  helpless,  the  author  will  be  overpaid. 

H.   B.   WHIPPLE, 

Bishop  of  Minnesota.    . 
FARIBAULT,  MINNESOTA, 
February,  1888. 


CONTENTS. 


LORIN  MOORUCK. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  I.  —  THE  VILLAGE  OF  NATSEE i 

CHAPTER  II.  —  THE  MASTER  WORKMAN 13 

CHAPTER  III.  —  UPON  THE  MOUNTAIN 22 

CHAPTER  IV.  —  HANNAH'S  CURIOSITY   REMAINS   UNSATIS 
FIED     32 

CHAPTER  V.  —  THE  MENACE 39 

CHAPTER  VI.  —  MEETAH  LEAVES  HOME 50 

CHAPTER  VII.  —  MR.  HARROLD'S  LETTER 61 

CHAPTER  VIII. — THE  LIGHT  STRUCK  OUT 73 

CHAPTER  IX.  —  THE  LITTLE  WHITE  CROSS  ON  THE  CLIFF,  87 


THREE   MEN  OF   WALLOWA 1-27 


SAMUEL,  AN   ARAPAHOE     .  .     1-21 


LORIN  MOORUCK. 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE    VILLAGE    OF    NATSEE. 

THE  mountains  rose  in  wild  confusion  as 
if  suddenly  awakening  from  the  warm  em 
brace  of  volcanic  fires,  turned  their  dull,  silent 
peaks  to  the  wide  heavens,  and  lived  in  perpet 
ual  torpor,  while  at  their  feet  danced  the  mad 
river,  foaming  and  frothing  in  its  eager  haste  to 
pass  between  these  grim  monitors  out  to  the 
blue  ocean,  but  crag  and  boulder,  bottomless 
gulch  and  sharp  horn  of  mountain,  tumbled  it 
hither  and  yon  as  it  rushed  to  the  sea.  Lorin 
Mooruck,  lying  at  full  length  upon  a  jutting 
rock  above,  wondered  if  civilization  were  not 
like  this  wild  child  of  the  mountain,  whose  birth 
was  up  somewhere  near  the  clouds,  whose  life 
was  passed  in  fretful  impatience  at  obstruction, 
whose  end  was  to  lose  itself  in  the  broad  ocean 
and  be  part  of  the  perpetual  blue  pendulum 
swung  ever  to  and  from  the  eternal  sands,  each 


2  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

wave  wearing  a  crested  cap  like  every  other 
wave. 

A  close  observer  would  have  found  something 
in  each  cap  differing  from  another,  but  Lorin 
viewed  them  from  afar  and  thought,  "Here  in 
the  village  one  lives  a  different  life." 

The  sun  has  not  yet  set  as  the  youth  dreams 
on.  Back  of  him  lies  the  village  :  houses  tossed 
here  and  there  along  the  mountain  side,  some 
with  latticed  porch  or  high  gabled  roof ;  houses 
with  open. fire-places  where  burns  the  resinous 
pine ;  houses  with  curtained  windows  where  the 
sun  ever  seeks  and  finds  admittance ;  for  here 
are  no  deep-tinted  carpets  to  fade  with  light, 
but  white  pine  floors  and  uncushioned,  straight- 
backed  chairs.  Little  gardens  of  beans,  pota 
toes,  and  corn  are  fenced  in  near  many  of  the 
homes.  In  Natsee  the  women  divide  the  labor 
with  the  men.  They  dress  and  dry  the  salmon 
caught  in  the  innumerable  eddies  and  back  cur 
rents  of  the  restless  stream,  they  gather  acorns 
for  meal,  and  come  from  the  pine  depths  with 
arms  full  of  sprigs  and  branches  to  sputter  on 
the  broad  hearth.  The  old  men  cultivate  patches 
of  ground  or  mend  the  fishing  nets,  the  young 
men  work  in  the  lumber  mills  at  Tarcata,  or 
look  after  the  hogs  and  horses.  Along  the 
river  are  the  fisheries  and  stagings  to  hold  the 
fishermen  and  their  nets. 


THE    VILLAGE    OF    NATSEE.  3 

Home  is  very  dear  to  these  people,  and  they 
form  a  happy  community.  On  either  side  of 
this  turbulent  stream  are  dotted  villages  like 
Natsee,  where  tribal  law  has  given  place  to  in 
dividual  interests,  little  worlds  where  love  and 
sorrow,  happiness  and  despair,  creep  in  and 
point  the  victim  to  begin  the  puppet  show ;  and 
here  one  sees  a  smiling  face  hiding  a  heavy 
heart,  a  placid  face,  and  behind  it  a  satisfied 
shiftlessness,  all  a  part  of  the  great  whole  where 
the  soul  stands  aloft  and  the  body  moves  under 
the  mask. 

Mooruck  dreams  until  the  mountain  heights 
blush  with  the  kiss  of  the  royal  light  as  it 
curves  in  brilliancy  and  dies  in  radiance,  leaving 
its  soft  remembrance  upon  their  snowy  peaks, 
until  the  clouds  above  grow  gray  and  chill.  The 
crescent  shroud,  whose  lord  has  disappeared,  be 
gins  to  glow  with  expectancy  of  reaching  him, 
and  as  she  moves  aloft  the  stars  are  lit  to  guide 
her  on,  and  Mooruck  wonders  'if  the  heavens 
have  no  pity  for  her  sorrow,  when  suddenly 
some  one  calls  in  his  ear,  "  You  are  lazy,  Lorin  !  " 

It  is  only  Meetah,  a  girl  a  few  years  younger 
than  he,  in  a  short  gown,  her  black  hair  loos 
ened  to  her  waist.  The  dream-light  fades  from 
his  eyes,  he  rises  and  shakes  himself  somewhat 
like  a  Newfoundland  dripping  from  the  cool 


4  tORIN    MOORUCK. 

river,  and  turns  to  Meetah,  who  has  curled  her 
self  near  on  the  rock. 

"  I  suppose  you  were  making  dream-tales,  as 
usual,"  she  said  contemptuously.  "What  a 
pity  you  could  not  ride  on  the  tail  of  the  moon 
and  find  out  why  the  stars  are  all  a-glitter. 
You  might  be  willing  to  work  then  and  stop 
your  dreaming." 

"I  cannot  help  it,  Meetah,"  he  said  slowly; 
"  the  mountains  call  me,  and  when  the  sun  dies 
I  must  see  that  scarlet  touch  he  leaves  behind. 
Did  you  never  notice  the  singing  in  the  river 
that  dashes  there  —  hear  the  music  —  I  can 
never  give  up  trying  to  catch  it ; "  and  he  dropped 
on  the  rock  near  her,  leaning  over  to  listen. 

"Lorin  Mooruck,  you  will  never  amount  to 
that !  "  — she  snapped  her  fingers  at  him. 

He  smiled ;  he  was  used  to  her  impatience. 

She  meant  he  should  care  that  she  thought 
him  stupid,  so  she  announced,  "  Elmer  Stone 
has  gone  to  Tarcata  to  work  in  the  mill ;  he  will 
have  twice  as  much  money  as  you,  before  the 
moon  comes  again." 

Her  words  seemed  to  have  no  effect,  for 
Mooruck  answered,  "What  do  I  care  for  the 
money  —  my  mother  is  old  —  the  garden  keeps 
us  —  the  pipes  that  I  carve  get  us  enough  to 
wear,  and  when  that  is  not  enough,  I  mend  the 
fish  nets  —  what  more  does  one  want?" 


THE    VILLAGE    OF    NATSEE.  5 

"  And  that  is  all  you  care  ? "  she  asked,  her 
black  eyes  flashing. 

"When  it  is  needed,  I  will  do  more."  His 
dim  gaze  wavered  over  the  mountains  that 
worked  their  deathless  charm  upon  him. 

For  a  moment,  Meetah  was  silent.  Her  eyes 
rested  upon  his  supple,  strong,  young  form,  his 
deep-browed  eyes,  his  sharply  defined  features, 
his  short,  dark  hair  pushed  back  from  his  wide 
forehead,  but  instantly  her  impatience  returned 
as  his  thoughts  wandered.  "  You  are  dreaming 
away  the  present,  you  are  drifting  out  into  the 
future,  Lorin ;  nothing  is  sure  to  you,  '  tis  for 
me."  She  arose ;  the  rugged  mountains  out 
lined  her  girlish  form,  as,  folding  her  arms,  she 
said  impressively,  "  I  am  going  away  to  the 
world." 

Mooruck  turned  quickly  and  looked  at  her. 

"  My  mother  is  dead,  my  father  sleeps  also  — 
you  have  all  been  kind  to  me,  here  in  the  village. 
Soon,  my  sister,  Hannah  Tocare,  will  be  Han 
nah  Moore.  Then  —  Joseph  Moore  will  be 
enough  for  her.  There  is  no  one  to  need  me 
here.  I  am  going  out  into  the  East.  Some  day 
I  shall  come  back  ;  then  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean!"  exclaimed  Mooruck, 
suddenly  springing  up,  alive  with  energy. 

Meetah  thought  joyously,  "  Some  beautiful 
spirit  must  have  looked  like  that !  " 


6  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

Mooruck's  dream-tales  had  awakened  her  ar 
tistic  nature,  but  she  never  quite  admitted  it, 
even  to  herself. 

These  friends  had  grown  up  from  childhood 
together;  she,  eager,  impatient,  full  of  animal 
spirit ;  he,  quiet,  reticent,  usually  by  himself, 
moulding  odd  figures  out  of  the  red  clay ;  but 
the  sound  of  Meetah's  childish  laughter  always 
brought  a  smile  to  his  lips.  He  heard  it  amidst 
all  the  sound  and  noisy  play  of  other  children  ; 
her  life  seemed  strung  in  tune  with  his.  As 
they  grew  older  they  understood  each  other 
without  explanations.  Meetah  was  fifteen  now, 
Lorin  almost  two  years  older. 

As  Meetah  grew,  her  mind  turned  to  practical 
affairs,  though  her  best  enjoyment  was  to  sit  by 
the  side  of  her  young  playmate  on  the  cliff  in 
the  stillness  of  twilight,  and  listen  to  his  won 
derful  tales  of  the  heavens,  the  mountain  gods, 
the  people  who  lived  under  the  sea,  and  the 
white-faced  maidens  in  the  river  that  dashed  at 
their  feet.  The  villagers  were  proud  of  Moo- 
ruck's  skill  in  carving ;  his  kind,  old,  wrinkled- 
faced  mother  would  smile,  and  say  their  house 
had  been  built  by  Mooruck's  pipes.  Eight  years 
ago  the  garrison  people  had  lived  near,  and  they 
took  as  many  of  his  curiously  carved  red  clay 
pipes,  with  long,  slender  handles,  as  he  could 
carve  in  days  and  weeks  ;  but  the  Fort  had  been 


THE    VILLAGE    OF    NATSEE.  J 

moved ;  there  was  no  need  of  a  garrison  near 
Indians  who  quietly  supported  themselves  and 
had  always  been  friendly.  In  place  of  the  gar 
rison  came  settlers,  who  thought  there  was  little 
room  in  this  country  for  any  one  not  a  foreign 
immigrant.  They  saw  no  need  for  Indians  to 
live  in  a  village  like  this,  the  land  was  too  good ; 
and  so  they  tried  to  make  trouble  by  eitcroach- 
ing  upon  the  village.  They  had  no  use  for 
carved  pipes,  so  Mooruck  made  very  little  with 
his  carving  now.  He  mended  fish  nets,  and  did 
it  so  dexterously  that  his  friends  would  have  sup 
plied  him  always  with  that,  but  that  he  had  a 
passion  for  the  carving.  Sometimes  it  seemed 
to  Meetah  that  the  little  figures  had  been  there 
all  the  time,  that  Lorin  heard  their  cry  and  let 
them  come  out,  as  he  cut  away  obstructive  clay. 
No  one  knew  that  she  had  a  little  sandy  horse, 
with  four  stumps  and  no  tail,  ridden  by  a  legless 
boy,  put  carefully  among  her  few  treasures. 
Lorin  made  it  when  only  four  years  old. 

Meetah's  impatience  was  caused  by  her  love 
for  him,  her  heroic  ideas  of  what  he  might  do. 
She  wanted  all  people  to  know  he  was  a  hero, 
though  they  thought  him  a  dreamer.  In  her 
father's  day  she  heard  strange  tales  of  adven 
ture  and  bravery,  and  she  longed  to  be  a  son, 
that  she  might  ride  forth  and  accomplish  some 
daring  deed  that  would  make  people  wonder. 


8  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

When  about  twelve  years  old  she  deliberately 
burned  her  a*rm  with  a  heated  iron  to  find  out 
her  power  of  endurance,  and  all  through  the 
painful  healing  she  never  complained. 

Another  friend  of  Meetah's  was  Elmer  Stone, 
a  keen-eyed,  broad-shouldered  youth,  with  a  de 
termination  to  succeed  in  being  as  well  off  as 
any  rich  ranchman ;  he  had  gone  recently  to 
work  in  the  lumber  mills  at  Tarcata.  When 
Mr.  Tuscan,  the  kind-hearted  minister,  had 
spoken  of  the  villagers  to  Colonel  Frost,  who 
came  out  from  Washington,  he  had  pointed  to 
Elmer  as  showing  the  Indian  civilization  had  de 
veloped.  He  spoke  of  him  as  a  representative 
man,  who  would  one  day  leave  the  village  and 
be  part  of  the  great  world  beyond.  Meetah 
stood  there,  her  black  eyes  shining  with  defiance. 
It  was  not  hard  then  to  see  whether  she  cared 
for  Elmer  or  Lorin  best.  She  determined  to  go 
into  the  great  world  herself ;  she  would  see  what 
it  was  like.  Lorin  should  go  too.  Mr.  Tuscan 
had  been  glad  of  her  wish  to  go ;  he  said  he 

would  try  and  get   her  a  place   at    the  Q 

school  in  the  East,  where  she  might  advance  in 
her  work,  for  already  she  would  take  fine  stitches 
in  sewing,  and  knew  all  that  they  taught  in  the 
village  school.  All  her  people  spoke  English, 
and  it  had  not  been  difficult  for  her  to  follow  the 
text-books.  Any  one  in  the  village  could  talk 


THE    VILLAGE    OF    NATSEE.  9 

and  understand  English,  though  they  preferred 
to  use  their  own  language  among  themselves.  If 
the  school  were  a  good  place  for  one,  it  would  be 
a  good  place  for  another.  Oh,  if  she  could  only 
awake  some  fire  in  Lorin,  some  wild  life  that 
would  stir  him  up  to  dissatisfaction.  She  had 
been  thinking  of  going  a  long  time  now,  and  to 
day  Mr.  Tuscan  had  received  word  from  Q . 

He  had  told  her  not  an  hour  since,  and  her  first 
thought  had  been  to  find  Lorin.  She  was  filled 
with  the  excitement  of  anticipation,  but  here 
was  Lorin,  dreaming  away  the  time  as  though 
nothing  was  to  happen. 

When  he  sprang  up,  Meetah  clasped  her 
hands  and  cried  :  "  Ah !  Lorin,  you  will  come  at 
last!"  Then  she  went  on  rapidly:  "I  am  go 
ing  away  to  the  school  at  Q .  They  will 

teach  us  both  —  you  will  come  too  —  they  will 
teach  us  everything.  We  will  go  out  into  the 
great  world — you  shall  be  the  representative 
man.  You  will  not  stay  here  in  the  village," 
pointing  to  where  she  turned  her  eyes  at  the 
shadowy  outline  of  their  homes;  "but,"  she 
added  softly,  "  not  forever,  never  forever,  Lorin 
—  we  will  remember  how  they  loved  us  —  we 
will  come  back  —  all  we  do  shall  be  for  them." 
Then  quickly,  "  Mr.  Tuscan  says  he  can  get  a 
place  for  you  —  let  me  tell  him  to  write  ? " 
Slowly  he  raised  his  eyes  to  hers,  then  turned 


IO  LORiN    MOORUCK. 

away  toward  a  glimmer  of  light  in  the  village. 
"  That  is  my  mother's  home  — my  father's  grave 
is  here.  I  cannot  leave  these  for  a  small  spot 
crowded  with  white  men.  The  heavens  arch 
over  us  here  —  they  tell  me  that  the  white  man 
cannot  see  the  heavens  from  his  home  —  he 
journeys  away  every  year  to  breathe  fresh  air 
and  see  the  sky  —  I  think  the  Great  Spirit 
guards  us  better  here." 

"  For  the  sake  of  an  arching  sky  you  will  lose 
everything  ?  The  white  man  will  take  your 
home  and  laugh  at  your  right ;  they  will  drive 
you  from  the  village  —  in  that  day  you  will  dig 
in  the  ground  for  roots  to  keep  you  from  starv 
ing  —  it  is  coming  —  they  will  creep  upon  you 
before  you  know  it.  I  have  not  been  to  school 
and  heard  the  teachers  talk  for  nothing.  Lorin, 
will  you  stay  and  be  treated  worse  than  a  wild 
goat  ?  I  have  more  spirit  than  that ! "  She 
hurled  her  contemptuous  words  off  in  a  breath. 

"  I  shall  guard  my  father's  grave  and  fight  for 
my  people,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"Yes,"  she  burst  forth,  "but  what  good  will 
it  do  ?  the  village  will  be  taken  by  white  men 
and  you  will  be  killed  likely.  I  shall  go  East 
and  learn  a  better  way.  I  love  my  people  as 
much  as  you  do,  Lorin  ;  the  time  to  fight  has 
passed,  we  must  learn  faster  the  civilized  way  — 
white  people  think  we  are  ignorant  of  their  way. 


THE   VILLAGE    OF    NATSEE.  II 

I  shall  get  all  the  knowledge  that  I  can,  then  I 
shall  come  back  and  teach  others." 

"You  have  a  fine  dream,  Meetah,"  he  smiled. 
"  You  want  to  be  like  the  man  and  woman 
whose  word  is  not  to  be  believed." 

She  came  swiftly  toward  him  and  putting  her 
hand  upon  his  arm  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  saying 
eagerly,  "  Lorin,  when  did  I  ever  lie  to  you  ? " 

He  moved  away,  her  hand  fell  from  his 
sleeve. 

"  Not  yet,  but  the  sun  falls  over  the  mountains 
there,  sometimes  early,  sometimes  late,  but  they 
are  used  to  it  and  do  not  know  the  difference. 
You  will  find  it  easy  to  learn  new  ways ;  you  will 
think  one  thing  to-day  and  another  thing  to-mor 
row  ;  your  lips  will  say  it,  and  like  our  moun 
tains  there  you  will  not  know  that  the  shadow 
has  come  —  you  will  put  yourself  in  the  way  of 
change.  It  will  be  a  long  road  between  you  and 
the  village,  then.  Go  if  you  like ;  I  remain 

here." 

• 

A  doubt  seized  her,  she  was  filled  with  ques 
tioning  fear  ;  she  had  come  to  him  buoyant  with 
hope  —  he  had  painted  all  away  in  dismal  colors. 

"  I  shall  not  change  in  my  soul  —  it  will  be 
always  the  same  as  yours ;  can't  you  feel  that, 
Lorin  —  " 

"  Will  you  forget  to  eat,  and  talk  here  for 
ever?  "  came  a  voice  up  the  hill.  It  was  Han- 


12  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

nah  Tocare,  who  had  come  for  her  sister,  and 
now  would  not  wait  to  let  them  talk. 

"Good-by,  Lorin,"  said  Meetah,  mournfully, 
as  she  turned  away. 

Somehow  his  voice  did  not  come  and  he 
watched  them  in  silence  as  they  wound  down 
the  mountain  side  and  disappeared  in  the  dis 
tance  ;  then  he  threw  himself  at  full  length 
along  the  rock,  dug  his  ringers  in  the  brown 
lichen  and  wondered  if  Meetah  would,  in  truth, 
leave  the  village. 


THE    MASTER    WORKMAN.  13 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    MASTER   WORKMAN. 

THE  tourist  will  tell  you  that  the  town  of 
Crespy  sprang  up  in  the  night-time.  They  call 
it  a  mushroom  growth,  and  truly,  for  the  velvety, 
pale-colored  mushroom  has  a  lining  of  dark  tint 
deeply  ridged ;  so  also  has  Crespy,  its  history 
being  deeply  lined  with  dark  facts.  The  town 
was  stolen  bit  by  bit,  under  cover  of  right,  but 
by  dint  of  wrong,  and  the  workmen  will  some 
times  laughingly  point  at  the  tall,  olive-hued 
stone-cutter  in  their  midst  and  call  him  Mooruck 
of  Crespy,  for  his  father  was  once  chief  of  a 
people  who  owned  this  land.  It  was,  not  long 
since,  part  of  the  ground  belonging  to  the  people 
of  Natsee,  and  is  still  theirs  by  law,  but  no  one 
cares  to  enforce  their  rights,  no  one  cares  for 
the  Indian's  title  here. 

As  the  workmen  gather  in  the  low-roofed 
saloon  at  night,  they  laugh  at  the  idea  of  Moo- 
ruck,  the  Indian,  owning  land,  and  among  them 
selves  they  say :  — 

"  He  is  a  good  fellow,  after  all,  a  master  work- 


14  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

man  —  but  the  Lord  knows  where  he  learned  it 
all ! " 

A  newly  arrived  Pole  muttered,  "  From  the 
devil,  perhaps,"  but  a  powerful  Swede  arose  with : 
"  None  of  that !  We  know  Lorin  Mooruck  and 
none  shall  say  a  word  against  him  while  I'm 
here,  no  matter  what  he  is." 

"  Bully  for  you,  Bill,"  burst  forth  one  of  the 
crowd.  "He's  a  good  'un  if  'e  is  a  Injun  — 
we'll  say  that  much." 

"I  ain't  over  much  fond  of  'em,"  said  a  thin 
man  as  he  sipped  the  contents  from  a  broken 
mug,  "but  I've  a  good  word  for  'im,  for  when  I 
shied  wurk  las'  spring,  'cause  the  ol'  'oman  wus 
sick,  'e  did  m'  wurk  un  'is  too,  wurkin'  after 
'ours,  an'  never  a  cent  did  'e  keep,  but  let  th' 
boss  turn  over  m'  pile  same  as  usual." 

"  He  don't  keer  for  this  crowd  much,"  ven 
tured  a  good-natured  frontiersman. 

"Wai,"  said  one,  "he's  got  the  good  sense  ter 
know  that  poor  whiskey  makes  an  Injun  crazy, 
an*  it  ain't  much  good  yer  can  find  in  these  yere 
parts." 

"  But  the  devil's  own  knows  where  he  goes 
nights,"  muttered  an  Irishman. 

"  Leave  the  devil  to  find  out  then,"  growled 
the  broad-shouldered  Bill ;  and  no  one  caring  to 
dispute  with  him,  the  conversation  changed. 


THE    MASTER    WORKMAN.  15 

There  were  a  few  good  houses  in  Crespy  and 
many  more  building. 

One  day,  Miss  Slater,  daughter  of  the  builder, 
took  a  party  of  friends  down  to  see  the  stone 
cutters  at  work,  but  from  the  whispered  words, 
no  one  knew  they  had  come  down  to  see  but  one 
of  these  men ;  at  her  request,  Mr.  Harrold,  the 
artist,  who  had  a  couple  of  rooms  in  the  Slater's 
house,  accompanied  them,  and  while  they  talked 
he  took  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  tall  stone-cutter  with 
the  short,  dark  hair  and  olive  skin.  His  cos 
tume  pleased  the  artist :  the  light  brown  overalls, 
the  pale  blue  shirt,  the  red  handkerchief  knotted 
about  the  throat,  the  head  without  covering,  the 
broad  shoulders,  the  strong,  steady  stroke  of  the 
hammer,  —  the  picturesque  whole  delighted  Mr. 
Harrold.  The  man  gave  close  attention  to  his 
work,  and  seemed  unconscious  of  their  presence. 
The  artist  came  to  see  the  stone-cutters  again, 
and  yet  again,  each  time  talking  longer  with 
this  skilful  workman,  whose  unerring  eye,  steady 
aim  and  muscular  strength  placed  him  above  his 
fellows.  At  first,  Mr.  Harrold  came  merely  be 
cause  Miss  Slater  wished  it,  but  finally  he  came 
because  he,  too,  was  interested  in  this  young 
Indian ;  so  it  happened  that  Mooruck  never 
spent  his  evenings  in  the  low  saloon. 

Miss  Slater  or  Mr.   Harrold  might  have  an- 


1 6  LOR1N    MOORUCK. 

swered  the  curiosity  of  the  workmen,  but  who 
would  think  of  asking  them  ? 

There  was  one  circumstance  that  would  for 
ever  prevent  Mooruck's  co-laborers  from  bear 
ing  him  a  grudge.  Although  he  was  the  mas 
ter  workman,  he  could  never  keep  good  wages 
out  of  their  hands,  for  his  employer  gave  him 
less  than  the  unskilled  German  ;  in  a  way  it  was 
doing  the  workman  harm,  though  they  little 
dreamed  it,  but  the  very  indignation  that  burned 
through  Mooruck's  veins  at  such  treatment 
made  him  resolve  that  one  day  his  employer 
should  stand  beneath  him,  one  day  he  should 
see  that  the  law  would  protect  the  Indian. 

Mr.  Pinkham  was  a  grasping  Westerner,  a 
mean  man  by  nature.  Part  of  his  creed  was  to 
cheat  whom  he  could ;  Mooruck  must  have  the 
work,  and  so  for  the  time  being  Mr.  Pinkham 
took  the  profits. 

The  fire  for  which  Meetah  had  longed  was 
at  last  kindling  Lorin's  ambition,  but  in  these 
days  she  worked  patiently  and  sadly,  hearing 
very  little  of  Lorin.  Often,  as  she  sat  sewing 
in  Hannah  Tocare's  house  in  the  village,  she 
would  try  and  picture  to  herself  what  he  did, 
what  he  thought ;  groping  through  space,  her 
heart  aglow  with  love,  she  felt  her  thought  must 
reach  him,  must  awake  in  return  some  thought 
of  her,  must  put  aside  distance ;  there  must  be 


THE    MASTER    WORKMAN.  I/ 

some  power  by  which  her  soul  could  reach  his. 
Surely  he  was  thinking  of  her,  all  barrier  of  dis 
tance  had  fallen  away,  her  soul  should  feel  his 
—  was  reaching  his  - 

Alas  for  the  passionate  women  who  sit  and 
dream  ! 

Meetah  had  been  out  in  the  world ;  she  had 
even  gone  to  Massachusetts  and  worked  in  a 
farmer's  family  there.  She  had  been  the  one 
girl  studying  in  a  class  with  eleven  boys,  all 
having  finished  their  course  of  three  years,  but 
so  eager  for  another  year  of  hard  work  that 

after  much  urging  the  authorities  at  Q had 

granted  their  desire.  At  the  end  of  the  four 
years  she  read  an  essay  comparing  the  women 
of  her  race  to-day  with  those  of  the  past.  It 
had  been  published  in  the  commissioner's  In 
dian  report  and  sent  to  the  Secretary  of  the 
Interior  to  impress  the  nation  with  the  advance 
ment  of  at  least  one  Indian.  But  all  through 
her  triumphant  last  days  at  school,  the  praise  of 
the  teachers,  the  admiration  of  the  visitors,  had 
fallen  upon  dull  ears  ;  for  in  her  pocket  she  car 
ried  a  badly  written  letter  from  the  village,  tell 
ing  that  Lorin's  mother  was  dead,  his  house  had 
been  seized  by  a  settler,  and  he  had  gone  away 
to  work  in  a  new  town.  Her  sister's  husband 
had  been  told  he  did  not  own  their  home ;  he 
had  been  driven  forth,  and  a  fence  put  about  his 


1 8  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

vegetable  garden.  He  had  been  warned  that,  if 
he  took  so  much  as  a  bean,  he  would  be  com 
mitted  to  trial  for  theft  from  an  honest  white 
man,  who  intended  to  use  his  house,  and  who 
saw  fit  to  take  his  small  farm.  A  month  had 
gone  by,  two  months,  and  their  home  was  shut 
in  darkness ;  no  one  occupied  it. 

Meetah  had  changed  in  mind ;  she  had  im 
proved  in  character,  but  her  heart  was  the  same. 
She  smiled  in  bitterness  at  her  ambition ;  what 
had  it  brought  ?  How  often  she  had  laughed  at 
Lorin  for  dreaming,  yet  his  dream-world  might 
come  nearer  true  than  hers. 

Two  upper  rooms  in  the  Slater's  house  served 
for  Mr.  Harrold's  home.  In  the  front  were 
comfortable  easy-chairs,  pictures  without  frames, 
finely  sculptured  arms,  feet,  and  heads  hanging 
against  the  wall,  a  high  tier  of  shelves  filled 
with  books,  bits  of  statuary  here  and  there, 
draped  curiously  with  fish  nets,  bits  of  silk  and 
pieces  of  richly  colored  crepe.  Out  of  this 
room  opened  the  L-shaped  apartment  he  pleased 
to  term  his  workshop. 

In  the  front  room,  one  frosty  night,  before 
the  log  fire  upon  the  hearth,  sat  Mr.  Harrold 
and  the  master  stone-cutter,  whose  picturesque 
dress  had  given  place  to  a  conventional  brown 
suit  ;  the  two  men  were  good  friends,  and 


THE    MASTER    WORKMAN.  IQ 

Mooruck  had  been  calling  up  his  past  life  at 
Mr.  Harrold's  desire. 

The  old  dreaminess  again  possessed  him  as 
he  said  slowly,  "The  strong  influence  of  another 
life  has  filled  the  gap  in  mine." 

If  Meetah's  eager  longing  had  been  gratified, 
she  might  have  felt  his  soul  then,  and  trembled. 

"  There  is  another  force  beside  my  own.  Of 
my  own  will,  even  after  my  mother's  death,  I 
would  not  have  left  the  village.  I  drank  in  this 
force  as  flowers  the  sunshine,  as  leaves  the  dew. 
I  never  knew  I  took  it  until  one  day  — "  He 
paused ;  his  eyes  seemed  to  filter  the  light  from 
the  fire  as,  turning  to  Harrold  with  a  startled 
motion,  waving  his  hand  —  "  It  was  gone  !  Like 
a  bird  it  opened  its  wings  and  fled  —  it  sought 
the  heights,  while  I  lay  dreaming.  All  my  life 
it  had  been  near  and  I  had  not  known." 

He  turned  and  silently  watched  the  ashes  as 
they  fell  from  the  burning  logs. 

There  was  not  sufficient  sympathy  between 
Mr.  Harrold  and  Lorin  for  the  former  to  under 
stand  what  he  meant,  but  using  tact  the  artist 
asked  :  — 

"  So  it  was  not  of  your  own  accord  that  you 
left  the  village  ?  " 

"  My  friend  had  gone  away,"  answered  Lorin, 
"to  find  a  better  way  of  life,  so  I,  too,  decided 
to  go  forth  and  learn  the  better  way  also.  I 


20  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

did  not  wish  to  go  far  —  I  came  here  —  I  have 
worked,  but  have  learned  no  better  way  to  live 
than  that  taught  by  our  good  Mr.  Tuscan  — 
after  all,  our  simple  village  life  seems  best  to 
me.  Mr.  Pinkham  has  found  me  of  use,  but 
you,  my  friend,  you  have  been  all  the  village,  all 
the  mountains,  the  sky,  the  singing  birds  to 
me  !  "  He  sprang  up  enthusiastically  and  placed 
his  hands  on  Mr.  Harrold's  shoulders.  "You 
have  given  me  a  new  life.  In  all  my  thought 
was  never  such  kindness  as  this.  I  meant  only 
to  be  a  good  stone-cutter,  but  you  —  you  have 
taught  me  a  different  and  better  work." 

"  I   do   not   deserve   your  thanks,"   said   Mr. 

Harrold.      "  If    I   have  taught   you   the   use   of 

tools,  you  have  taught  me  how  to  hold  ideas. 

But  come,  I  presume  you  are  already  impatient 

—  a  change  of  suit,  then  to  work !  " 

Stepping  upon  a  chair  and  reaching  up  to  a 
square  closet  door  in  the  wall,  Mr.  Harrold 
flung  from  it  a  couple  of  shabby  overalls  and 
two  worn  blue  shirts.  Donning  these  costumes, 
the  jean  shirts  over  the  trousers  in  Chinese 
fashion,  the  men  were  in  working  suit.  Mr. 
Harrold  adjusted  a  light  cloth  cap  to  his  scant 
blonde  hair  and  they  then  passed  on  into  the 
L-shaped  room. 

It  was  well  lighted  by  bracket-lamps,  and  on 
one  side  of  the  carpetless  room,  against  the 
wall,  rested  a  rough,  grayish  piece  of  marble, 


THE    MASTER    WORKMAN.  21 

and  near  it  a  trough  of  wet  clay.  Scattered  on 
a  table  near  were  numerous  wooden  hammers 
and  fine  tools  used  in  marble  cutting ;  a  statue 
half  issued  from  a  marble  block  at  the  end  of 
the  room. 

Mooruck  hastened  to  a  dark  object  on  a  table 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  and  carefully  un 
wrapped  from  wet  cloths  the  head  and  bust  of  a 
woman  in  clay.  Holding  the  damp  covering  in 
one  hand  he  stepped  back  and  gazed  at  his 
work.  The  deep-set  eyes  were  full  of  fiery 'pur 
pose,  the  long,  straight  hair  was  pushed  back 
from  a  broad,  low  brow,  the  lips  parted  as  if  for 
noble  utterance,  —  but  it  was  the  expression  in 
the  raised  eyes  that  held  one  speechless. 

Harrold  stood,  for  an  instant,  back  of  Moo- 
ruck,  in  silence.  "  I  always  feel  like  uncovering 
before  those  eyes,"  he  said  ;  and  even  as  he 
spoke  he  held  his  cap  in  his  hand.  "  You  have 
imprisoned  a  soul  there." 

But  Mooruck  did  not  hear,  he  was  lost  in 
thought.  Presently  the  Indian  started  at  the 
sound  of  hammer  on  steel  and  click  of  marble, 
for  Harrold  had  passed  on  and  was  at  work 
upon  the  issuing  figure  at  the  end  of  the  room. 
The  sound  of  the  tool  was  like  the  burst  of  mar 
tial  music  to  the  ears  of  a  warrior.  Instantly, 
Lorin  flung  aside  the  bunch  of  wet  rags  in  his 
hand  and  in  a  moment  more  was  at  work  upon 
the  half-formed  shoulders  of  his  statue. 


22  LORIN    MOORUCK. 


CHAPTER    III. 

UPON    THE    MOUNTAIN. 

ON  one  of  the  hills  in  the  village  of  Natsee 
is  perched  a  little  cottage  of  four  rooms,  the 
home  of  Joseph  Moore,  the  fisherman ;  the 
household  is  managed  frugally  to  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door,  for  little  can  Joseph  earn,  though 
he  fishes  all  the  day  and  helps  Hannah  mend 
the  nets  at  night.  She  cultivates  the  little 
patch  of  ground  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
her  sister,  Meetah  Tocare,  helps  in  the  house 
work,  and  of  her  scanty  earnings  at  the  village 
school  gives  more  than  half  for  the  home  spend 
ing.  Hannah  and  Joseph  need  all  they  can 
have  now  to  keep  from  starving  this  coming 
winter ;  the  ground  about  their  house  is  newly 
planted  and  will  not  yield  well  this  year.  The 
house  and  farm  from  which  they  were  driven 
last  year  stand  idle  ;  no  one  uses  the  house,  and 
the  man  who  claimed  the  place  has  taken  all 
the  produce,  but  has  not  troubled  to  prepare 
the  land  again.  Joseph  and  Hannah  have  be 
gun  their  new  home  with  lack  of  hope,  for  they 
do  not  know  how  soon  they  may  be  driven  away 
from  this  too. 


UPON   THE    MOUNTAIN.  2$ 

The  white  men  send  their  herd  quite  into  the 
village  to  graze ;  there  are  many  Indian  farms 
lost,  many  homes  ruined,  many  cattle  branded 
with  the  white  man's  mark,  many  a  house  taken 
possession  of,  as  a  lawless  white  shows  forged 
papers  giving  him  the  right  to  the  home.  Yet 
no  one  who  has  authority  interferes ;  people  go 
there  with  the  desire  and  resolve  to  cheat  these 
Indians,  and  when  they  have  robbed  them  they 
think  they  have  done  a  cunning  thing.  "The 
Indian  will  not  understand  that  he  has  been 
wronged,  he  does  not  know  enough,"  they  rea 
son  ;  meanwhile  the  Indian  plans  and  wonders 
how  to  live  peaceably  and  avert  all  this  misery. 

As  the  day  wears  on,  Meetah  comes  home 
from  the  school  and  sits  now  in  the  living-room, 
her  foot  rocking  the  cradle  of  the  sleeping  child, 
while  her  busy  needle  flies  in  and  out,  as  she 
tries  to  find  some  way  of  escape  from  their 
many  difficulties. 

The  child  of  boisterous  animal  spirit  is  lost  in 
this  quiet,  sad-faced  woman,  who,  though  kind 
and  gentle,  seems  always  in  deep  thought.  The 
children  love  her  and  cling  about  her  skirts  as 
they  come  from  the  village  school,  she  walking 
bare-headed  in  their  midst,  her  large  hat  swing 
ing  on  her  arm.  Of  old  the  people  knew  when 
Meetah  passed,  by  the  quick  step  and  ringing 
laugh,  but  now  it  is  the  chattering  and  merri- 


24  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

ment  of  village  children,  who  tell  her  coming, 
and  one  old  woman  within  doors  will  tell  another 
as  she  listens,  "  Meetah  must  be  going  by  from 
school." 

At  her  door-step  she  waves  them  good  by, 
and  as  they  scurry  down  the  hill  they  turn  back 
with  smile  and  nod  to  see  if  she  still  is  there. 

To-night  as  the  twilight  falls  she  pushes  her 
work  aside  in  weary  impatience  and  goes  out 
into  the  low-roofed  kitchen  to  help  Hannah. 
But  the  work  is  done ;  Hannah  is  waiting  sup 
per  for  Joseph,  who  will  not  be  home  until  late, 
so  Meetah,  telling  her  she  will,  go  for  a  short 
walk,  throws  the  little  red  shawl  about  her 
shoulders  and  goes  out  into  the  twilight  towards 
the  cliff  where  she  and  Mooruck  dreamed  away 
the  hours  in  their  childhood  days,  before  they 
had  grown  high  enough  to  touch  the  sorrows 
that  their  parents  bore. 

The  mountains  lift  their  gray  heads  toward 
the  changing  clouds  as  of  old,  and  the  silvered 
tips  of  the  highest  peaks  gleam  in  the  fading 
light.  The  stream  rushes  on  in  its  turbulent 
course,  and  the  jutting  crags  hang  over,  vainly 
trying  to  catch  their  image  in  the  waters  be 
neath.  As  Meetah's  accustomed  feet  climb  the 
mountain  side,  her  thoughts  pluck  back  the 
filmy  veil  about  her  childhood  days  :  her  father 
comes  forth,  strong  and  brave,  the  first  man  in 


UPON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  2$ 

the  tribe  to  unite  with  the  church,  and  content 
only  when  his  children  were  being  educated  — 
but  then  comes  the  day  when  the  mission 
school  was  closed  and  a  ward  politician  came 
out  to  be  their  agent.  She  did  not  know  the 
meaning  of  ward  politician  then ;  she  shivered 
at  the  mention  of  it,  and  at  night  covered  her 
head  close  with  the  bed-clothes  lest  she  might 
open  her  eyes  and  see  him  in  the  room.  She 
smiled  now  at  her  childish  fancies. 

She  had  always  been  eager  for  knowledge ; 
her  teacher  had  taught  her  to  write  and  rewrite 
"Knowledge  is  power,"  and  the  good  woman 
thought  she  was  telling  the  child  a  wise  thing ; 
but  Meetah  had  learned  that  the  use  of  knowl 
edge  was  power.  In  her  short  life  she  had  seen 
that  knowledge  was  not  power. 

Again  she  remembered  when  another  agent 
had  come  and  the  doors  of  the  mission  school 
had  been  thrown  wide  again ;  if  some  complain 
ing  school-boy  could  have  seen  the  eager,  smil 
ing  faces  of  these  Indian  children,  who  were 
permitted  to  work  and  study,  how  ashamed  he 
might  feel  at  his  unwillingness  to  go  to  school, 
when  there  was  no  government  official  to  say, 
"thou  shalt,"  or  "thou  shalt  not  learn,"  no  man 
with  power  to  shut  out,  by  a  whim,  his  future 
usefulness  as  a  citizen. 

As  a  child,  Meetah's  strong  desire  had  been 


26  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

for  a  good  education,  that  she  might  be  compe 
tent  to  help  her  people.  While  away  at  school 
she  had  studied  housework,  the  chemistry  of 
cooking,  the  art  of  good  dress-making,  and, 
pleasantest  work  of  all,  how  to  teach  others. 
But  she  came  back  to  the  village  without 
money ;  her  own  friends  went  often  without 
enough  to  eat,  and  there  seemed  little  hope. 
She  applied  to  be  made  a  teacher  at  one  of  the 
day  schools,  but  they  were  run  by  men  sent 
from  Washington,  who  refused  to  employ  her. 
At  last  one  of  these  fell  ill,  and  Meetah  took 
his  place.  He  had  received  forty  dollars  a 
month,  but  they  gave  her  twenty-three,  "  though 
she  taught  very  well  for  an  Indian,"  they  said ; 
so  in  the  morning  she  taught  the  older  people, 
and  in  the  afternoon  the  children,  and  in  the 
evening  —  I  was  about  to  say  —  she  taught  the 
teachers,  for  they  often  came  to  her  in  per 
plexity  and  she  graciously  helped  them ;  but  the 
people  in  authority  had  an  interest  in  these 
teachers  and  paid  them  twice  as  much  as  the 
Indian  girl. 

The  rainbow  about  her  life  had  been  her  love 
for  Lorin.  Away  at  school  her  thought  had 
been  that  he  would  be  proud  if  she  studied  and 
stood  first  in  her  class ;  he  would  no  longer 
think  she  had  done  wrong  to  leave  the  village ; 
but  now  he,  too,  had  left ;  she  had  been  home  a 


UPON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  2? 

year  and  Lorin  had  not  once  come  back  from 
this  new  town.  Was  he  more  satisfied  there 
than  in  the  village  ?  He  could  read  and  write, 
but  he  never  sent  her  one  word,  and  she  shel 
tered  a  joyous  fancy  in  her  heart  that  Lorin  was 
carving  out  a  great  future,  and  when  the  lines 
were  well  marked  he  would  come  and  tell  her, 
for  in  the  past  had  they  not  always  shared  the 
same  thoughts  —  and  what  should  hinder  in  the 
future  ?  . 

Slowly  it  dawned  upon  her  mind,  "  Some 
other  person,  some  other  woman  should  hinder 
in  the  future."  She  caught  her  breath,  she 
tried  to  smother  the  thought,  she  made  an  effort 
to  recall  the  past  —  his  looks,  his  smiles,  his 
words  —  but  this  new  thought  blurred  them 
from  sight,  and  for  the  first  time  she  pitied 
Elmer  Stone. 

She  had  felt  sorry  for  him  when  she  told  him 
she  could  not  return  his  love ;  that  she  felt  how 
good  and  noble  he  was,  but  that  she  could 
think  no  more  of  him  than  she  did  now  —  but 
she  had  not  realized  then  his  feeling  ;  she  had 
only  thought,  "  How  impossible  that  I  could 
marry  Elmer!"  Now  —  a  tear  rolled  down  her 
cheek  as  she  remembered  his  deep  sigh  —  a 
selfish  tear,  for  she  was  grieving  at  her  own 
sorrow.  Perhaps  Lorin  would  never  come  —  the 
time  seemed  very  long  —  but  there  was  work 


28  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

for  her  to  do  —  plenty  of  work.  Live  for  others 
—  yes,  that  is  what  she  must  do. 

If  she  could  find  any  one  to  publish  what  she 
wrote,  she  could  tell  the  world  about  this  little 
village  of  honest  men  and  women  shut  in  among 
the  mountains,  while  white  men  surrounded  them 
like  sharks,  taking  their  homes  one  by  one,  in 
all  ways  trying  to  discourage  them  and  corrupt 
the  women  of  the  village. 

"  Oh  !  if  I  were  but  stronger  in  mind  and 
body,"  she  sighed,  as  she  stood  looking  off  at 
the  mountains  that  Lorin  loved.  They  were 
merely  immovable  points  of  rock  rising  one 
above  another,  —  desolate,  unchangeable  ;  how 
could  Lorin  love  anything  so  cold  and  cruel  ? 
He  might  die  of  despair  at  their  feet  and  in 
silence  they  would  gaze  heavenward. 

"  God  alone  cares  !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  in 
her  impetuous  manner  she  dropped  upon  her 
knees  and,  with  clasped  hands  and  eyes  raised, 
cried,  "Father  in  heaven,  give  me  patience." 

A  deep  "  Amen  "  came  from  the  edge  of  the 
rock.  Meetah  started  up  in  terror,  as  a  man 
came  swiftly  toward  her  with  outstretched  hands 
and  smiling  eyes. 

"  I  thought  to  find  you  here  by  our  beautiful 
mountains  !  "  He  spoke  triumphantly. 

But  Meetah  trembled,  as  she  said  reproach- 


UPON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  2Q 

fully,  "  To  think  you  were  so  near  and  yet  I  did 
not  feel  it !  "  She  ended  with  a  deep  sob. 

"Is  it  for  joy  or  sorrow,  Meetah  ? "    he  asked. 

"For  both,  I  think  —  but  most  for  joy,"  and 
as  they  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes,  they  knew 
a  beautiful  world  lay  before  them. 

Upon  the  mountain  top  that  night,  the  im 
portant  work  of  their  life  was  forgotten,  the 
words  they  had  thought  to  speak  faded  away ; 
the  past,  the  future,  was  nothing  —  all  happiness 
centred  in  the  present,  in  the  simple  fact  that, 
at  last,  they  were  together. 

Impulsively  their  lips  spoke  what  their  hearts 
had  long  known ;  to  Meetah,  now,  the  starry 
dome  above  was  beautiful,  the  mountains  smiled 
through  the  misty  night  veil,  and  from  the 
waters  beneath  shone  the  little  stars  as  though 
they  had  come  from  the  deep  to  greet  the  stars 
above. 

Lorin  felt  that  his  heart  would  burst  for  very 
joy  ;  Meetah  had  spoken  her  love  in  the  presence 
of  the  beautiful  mountains  that  brooded  over  the 
village  he  loved. 

Presently  he  said,  as  they  turned  to  leave  the 
cliff  and  stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  rock,  "  We 
cannot  live  in  the  village,  Meetah;  I  have  left 
it  forever.  I  did  not  think  so  at  first,  I  did"  not 
believe  I  could  leave  it  forever.  Do  you  remem- 


3O  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

her  that  night  we  talked  here  long  ago  ?  I,  a 
foolish  boy,  and  you,  a  brave-hearted  girl  —  I 
did  not  know  then  how  you  were  that  better 
part  of  me,  without  which  my  life  would  never 
come  so  near  the  good  and  true.  I  was  grieved, 
angry,  fretful  that  you  were  going  away  —  my 
terrible  loss  came  over  me  afterward  —  but  now 
He  smiled  radiantly  at  her. 

Looking  solemnly  up  at  him,  she  asked,  "Are 
you  sure  that  you  love  me  better  than  any  one 
in  the  world,  Lorin  ?  Ah !  you  cannot  under 
stand  what  my  love  for  you  is  —  it  is  my  life. 
I  feel  as  though  I  had  always  known  you  better 
than  you  knew  yourself  —  you  were  not  con 
scious  of  your  own  power ;  you  are  a  great  artist 
now." 

"  Only  a  beginner,  my  dear  one.  You  are  a 
dream-child,  Meetah ;  you  throw  a  wonderful 
thought  around  everything.  You  are  the  best 
part  of  me  ;  your  thought  creates  my  ideal.  Will 
it  not  be  beautiful  to  work  always  together? 
My  love  for  you  has  been  the  best  growth  of  my 
life."  He  drew  her  to  him.  "  Together  we  will 
not  fear  to  brave  the  world." 

Even  at  that  moment  a  faint  dread  came  to 
Meetah,  a  quivering  doubt  that  sometimes  shad 
ows  great  happiness.  For  a  moment  she  was 
silent,  then,  gently  taking  his  face  between  her 


UPON    THE    MOUNTAIN.  31 

hands,  she  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  beardless  lips 
and,  springing  away,  cried,  "  Oh,  I  am  so  proud  of 
you,  Lorin !  I  think  the  earth  must  be  Heaven 
at  last,  or  the  clouds  have  caught  us  up,  or  some 
thing  has  taken  us  above  our  own  lives ! " 


32  LOR1N    MOORUCK. 


CHAPTER    IV. 
HANNAH'S  CURIOSITY  REMAINS  UNSATISFIED. 

MUCH  surprised  were  the  Moores  when  Mee- 
tah  gayly  led  Lorin  in  upon  them.  Joseph 
greeted  him  with  affection,  but  Hannah  com 
plained,  "Why  did  you  not  come  to  us  before 
going  to  the  cliff  ?  " 

Meetah's  eyes  smiled  into  Lorin's,  for  they 
knew  why  he  had  chosen  their  old  trysting-place 
first. 

"Come,"  said  Hannah,  "and  join  us  at  sup- 
per." 

But  what  was  meat,  or  what  was  drink,  to 
either  of  them  !  Joseph  and  Hannah  might 
have  fed  a  hundred  such  on  meal  and  water, 
and  they  would  have  arisen  satisfied  as  if  from 
a  royal  feast. 

Hannah  insisted  upon  making  a  bed  for  Lorin 
upon  the  floor  of  their  living-room  ;  but  he  had 
been  invited  to  remain  with  a  friend  in  the 
village,  and  before  nine  o'clock  he  was  on  his 
way  to  visit  Elmer  Stone. 

After  the  housework  was  finished,  Meetah 
bade  Hannah  and  Joseph  good  night,  and  went 


HANNAH  S    CURIOSITY    UNSATISFIED.  33 

to  her  barely  furnished  room  which  opened  from 
the  kitchen. 

When  Hannah  had  talked  to  Joseph  awhile 
over  Mooruck's  past  life  and  future  plans,  and 
hushed  the  child,  who  had  awakened,  she  sud 
denly  remembered  that  Lorin  had  given  no 
satisfactory  answer  when  she  asked  why  he  had 
gone  to  the  cliff  before  coming  to  the  house  of 
his  best  friend.  Rising  with  the  thought,  she 
opened  Meetah's  door,  and  found  her  sitting  on 
the  edge  of  her  narrow  bed,  lost  in  dreamy 
thought.  She  glanced  up  in  surprise  as  her 
sister  entered,  and  drawing  her  skirts  aside 
made  room  for  her  upon  the  bed,  for  there  were 
no  chairs  there.  Her  blue  dress  was  unloosened, 
exposing  her  white  cotton  chemise  and  bare 
chest,  —  slight  covering  for  so  chilly  a  night ;  but 
Meetah  earned  little,  and  spent  that  upon  the 
household  and  a  few  books. 

"  It  was  strange,"  said  Hannah,  seating  her 
self,  "that  Mooruck  went  to  the  cliff  before  com 
ing  here.  Do  you  not  believe  he  thought  us 
good  enough  friends  to  come  here  when  entering 
the  village  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  Meetah,  slowly  pulling  the  pins 
from  her  low  knot  of  black  hair.  "  But  it  was 
his  favorite  place ;  he  loves  the  mountains  and 
the  stream."  She  spoke  caressingly.  "  It  was 
natural  for  him  to  go  to  them  first." 


34  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

"But  where  did  you  meet  him?"  queried 
Hannah. 

"I  met  him  there." 

"  You  did  not  know  he  was  coming  ? " 

"Do  you  think  I  would  not  have  told  you?" 
asked  the  girl,  glancing  up  in  surprise. 

"You  were  gone  a  long  time,"  complained 
the  sister.  "Was  he  there  when  you  first  came 
to  the  cliff  —  what  kept  you  so  long?  " 

Meetah  stooped  to  pick  up  a  pin  that  had 
fallen  from  her  long  hair.  There  was  the  gleam 
of  glittering  steel  and  a  thud  upon  the  bare  floor, 
as  something  slipped  from  her  open  dress. 

"  Meetah  Tocare  !  What  is  that !  "  exclaimed 
Hannah,  springing  from  the  bed  and  standing 
back. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Meetah,  picking  up  the  small 
hunting-knife  and  fixing  her  eyes  steadily  upon 
her  sister's  face.  "It  is  nothing  —  I  did  not 
wish  you  to  know.  Be  quiet,  Hannah,  and  I  will 
tell  you;"  for  she  still  continued  to  utter  her 
surprise. 

"  It  is  nothing  at  all,"  Meetah  said,  holding 
the  knife  in  her  hand  and  running  her  finger 
along  its  sharp  edge.  "  Please  be  still.  Sit 
down,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  and  she  pushed  the 
knife  under  the  edge  of  her  pillow. 

Hannah,  with  wide  eyes,  seated  herself;  not 
that  she  was  afraid  of  a  hunting-knife,  a  rifle,  or 


HANNAH'S  CURIOSITY  UNSATISFIED.        35 

a  revolver,  for  she  could  handle  any  of  these 
dexterously ;  but  she  was  surprised  that  Meetah 
should  conceal  such  a  thing  in  her  bosom. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  to  tell  you,"  said  Meetah 
again ;  "  but  never  fear ;  no  harm  will  come  to 
me ;  I  am  able  to  care  for  myself." 

"  But  why  do  you  wear  it  ? "  burst  forth 
Hannah. 

"  It  was  night  before  last,  as  I  came  through 
the  village,  some  drunken  white  men  chanced  to 
be  near  me."  Her  eyes  flashed,  and  the  color 
sprang  into  her  olive  cheeks.  "  I  was  an  Indian 
girl ;  the  cowards  followed  me,  uttering  insulting 
words  ;  as  I  was  a  woman,  and  alone,  I  fled 
before  them  ;  but,"  nervously  grasping  the  knife 
and  springing  up,  "if  I  had  had  this  then,  I 
would  have  killed  them  !  " 

She  threw  it  away  from  her,  far  over  on  the 
bed.  "  It  makes  my  blood  seethe  to  remember 
it!  Had  I  been  a  man  I  would  have  throttled 
the  words  down  their  ugly  throats.  To-day  I 
got  that !  "  She  seated  herself  quietly.  "  When 
it  is  necessary,  I  can  use  it." 

"What  shall  we  do!  what  shall  we  do!" 
wailed  Hannah,  thoroughly  overcome  by  the 
danger. 

"Nothing,"  said  Meetah,  scornfully.  "Do 
anything,  and  you  will  bring  on  an  Indian  war." 
She  laughed.  "  These  red  devils  are  suck  cut- 


36  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

throats — that's  what  you  will  hear.  We  are  all 
red-handed,  bloodthirsty  savages  —  all  —  there 
is  no  difference  !  "  She  paused  a  moment,  add 
ing  solemnly,  "  Let  the  Father  above  take  ac 
count  of  the  white  savages." 

"What  can  we  do!  What  can  we  do?" 
murmured  Hannah,  clasping  and  unclasping  her 
hands,  as  she  swayed  her  body  to  and  fro. 

"  Keep  silent ;  that  is  best.  I  am  sorry  I 
had  to  tell  you,  Hannah."  She  put  her  arm 
about  her  sister's  neck.  "  We  can  do  nothing. 
Do  not  fret.  Tell  no  one ;  above  all,  never  let 
Lorin  or  Joseph  know.  When  I  fail  to  take 
care  of  myself,  the  Lord  will  protect  me.  Do 
not  fret,  Hannah." 

"  But  the  danger  !  "  exclaimed  Hannah.  "  As 
if  you  could  kill  two  or  three  men  —  as  if  you, 
alone,  would  not  be  caught  by  them." 

"  They  were  too  drunk  to  run,  Hannah,  and 
so  they  could  not  catch  me." 

"  And  you  do  not  know  who  they  were  ? 
What  can  we  do  !  what  can  we  do  !  " 

"  Nothing.  Even  if  I  did  know  who  they 
were,  there  is  nothing  that  we  could  do.  If 
I  were  a  white  girl,  it  would  be  different.  What 
is  it  to  blast  the  life  of  an  Indian  girl ! " 

"  And  you  do  not  know  any  of  them  ? " 

"  What  good  would  it  do?" 

Hannah    stopped    her   moody   swaying    and 


HANNAH  S    CURIOSITY    UNSATISFIED.  37 

looked  searchingly  at  Meetah.  "You  do  know, 
who  they  were  ! " 

"  What  if  I  do  ?  "  said  the  girl,  defiantly  ;  "  I 
shall  not  tell." 

"Very  well,"  said  Hannah,  rising  and  speak 
ing  severely  ;  "  I  shall  find  out." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  Hannah  !  "  cried  the  girl,  flinging 
herself  before  her.  "  Please,  please  do  not  try 
to  find  out.  It  will  only  bring  misery  upon  us 
all ;  Joseph  and  Lorin  will  hear  of  it.  They 
will  be  killed  !  " 

"  What  they  deserve,"  said  the  older  sister, 
sternly. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  said  Meetah, 
fiercely,  catching  Hannah  by  the  arm.  "  It 
is  Lorin  and  Joseph  who  will  be  killed  !  Oh,  if 
you  knew  what  I  know  !  "  with  a  cry  of  despair. 
"  You  stay  close  in  the  house  and  do  not  know 
what  goes  on  close  outside  the  village.  Prom 
ise  me  —  promise  you  will  be  quiet!  " 

Hannah  seemed  to  waver,  but  she  did  not 
answer. 

"You  shall  not  go  until  you  promise,"  said 
Meetah,  firmly. 

Suddenly  Hannah  burst  into  tears.  Meetah 
tried  to  soothe  and  comfort  her,  but  with  long- 
drawn  breaths  she  wailed :  "  Sometimes  I  am 
wild  thinking  what  is  right  —  I  promised  our 
dying  father  to  care  for  you  —  would  you  have 


38  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

me  break  my  word  —  no,  no,  I  will  keep  it  until 
the  stones  melt." 

"No,    Hannah,"    said    the    girl,    gently,    "I 

would  be  the  last  one  to  ask  you  to  do  wrong. 

You  will  not  forget  your  promise  to  our  father, 

—  you    will    care   for  me  better  if    you    keep 

silent." 

"  But  I  gave  my  word  ;  I  said  I  would  pro 
tect  you  always  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Meetah,  caressingly.  "You 
are  very  good,  Hannah  —  no  harm  has  come  yet 
—  wait  awhile  before  you  speak." 

"  Sometimes  I  am  so  troubled  I  cannot  think," 
said  Hannah,  beginning  to  dry  her  eyes.  "  It 
was  not  long  since  that  I  knew  what  was  right 
to  do,  without  trying  so  hard  to  think ;  but  now, 
even  you  ask  me  to  break  my  word  with  our  dead." 

"  Not  break  your  word,  Hannah,"  Meetah 
protested  gently.  "You  will  keep  your  prom 
ise  best  if  you  do  as  I  ask." 

"Well,"  Hannah  said  reluctantly  after  much 
entreaty,  "it  may  not  be  right." 

"  But  it  is  right,"  said  Meetah  as  she  kissed 
her  good  night.  "  Do  not  be  sad.  Some  day 
a  better  time  will  come." 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  as  Hannah  lay 
awake,  she  suddenly  remembered  that  she  had 
not  yet  been  told  why  Mooruck  went  to  the 
cliff  first. 


THE    MENACE.  39 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    MENACE. 

MEETAH,  in  a  delicious,  half-awake  dreaminess, 
lived  over  Lorin's  plans  for  the  future.  He 
had  told  her  of  his  statue,  and  she  smiled  hap 
pily  as  she  recalled  that  night,  long  ago,  when 
she  had  urged  him  to  leave  the  village  ;  for  her 
words  and  attitude  had  been  so  firmly  impressed 
upon  his  mind,  that  with  his  own  hands  he  had 
made  an  image  of  her  in  clay,  picturing  her  as 
she  stood  that  night  upon  the  mountain  top.  He 
was  carving  it  out  from  the  marble  now.  She 
knew  where  she  would  first  go  when  she  reached 
Natsee :  it  would  be  to  Mr.  Harrold's  studio, 
where  she  would  see  Lorin's  work. 

Alas !  when  she  went  to  Natsee,  the  studio 
was  the  first  place  to  which  she  rushed  in  her 
wild  despair. 

The  sun  scarce  cast  his  rays  upon  the  earth 
when  all  in  the  house  of  Joseph,  the  fisherman, 
were  up  and  at  work.  There  was  breakfast  to 
get,  beds  to  make,  the  house  to  clean,  and  Jo 
seph's  light  lunch  to  prepare  that  he  might  take 
it  with  him,  for  the  salmon  were  getting  scarce, 


4O  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

and  it  required  careful  adjustment  of  the  nets 
in  the  back  eddies  of  the  treacherous  stream 
and  a  good  knowledge  of  the  changeful  current 
to  go  abroad  in  a  frail  skiff  like  Joseph's.  Then 
there  was  to  be  the  church  picnic  fifteen  miles 
from  the  village,  at  the  cleared  forest,  a  small 
flat  piece  of  ground  on  the  edge  of  the  stream. 
Saturday  had  been  selected  as  the  best  day,  so 
that  teachers  and  pupils  need  lose  no  time  at 
school.  Joseph  could  noi  spare  the  time  to  go, 
much  as  he  would  have  enjoyed  the  meeting 
and  gossiping  of  friends.  Hannah,  with  the 
child,  had  been  promised  a  seat  in  a  neighbor's 
wagon  ;  Meetah  had  been  expected  to  go  in  an 
old  cart  with  some  of  the  children,  but  now  that 
Lorin  had  come  her  plans  changed. 

Before  seven  o'clock  he  came  to  bid  her  good 
morning,  but  stood  for  a  time  near  the  open 
kitchen  door,  where  the  sun  streamed  in,  listen 
ing  to  her  rich  voice  as  it  floated  out  to  him  in 
a  joyous  carol.  Presently  she  came  to  the  door, 
wiping  her  bright  dish  -pan  out  and  hanging  it 
on  the  nail.  Lorin  no  longer  stood  still ;  he 
told  her  she  looked  fresh  as  a  sweet  mountain 
flower,  in  her  pink  dress,  and  as  he  stole  a  morn 
ing  kiss,  she  laughingly  drew  back,  telling  him 
to  beware,  lest  he  took  the  freshness  away. 

How  the  swift-winged  birds  sang  that  day, 
and  the  royal  sun  smiled  J  all  for  these  gay 


THE  MENACE.  41 

young  lovers,  as  they  rode  happily  over  the 
hills  to  the  picnic  ground,  in  a  reckless  old  wide- 
brimmed  buggy,  behind  a  hollow-backed  mare 
who  stopped  every  now  and  then  to  brush  off 
a  fly  and  look  back  at  these  people,  who  would 
have  been  almost  unconscious  if  she  had  stopped 
to  nibble  at  the  coarse  bunches  of  grass  on 
the  hillside. 

Lorin  was  warmly  greeted  by  old  and  young ; 
all  had  heard  the  night  before  that  he  was  in 
the  village ;  the  old  men  and  women  sat  and 
told  stories  of  his  childhood,  and  wondered  if  he 
could  feel  the  same  toward  them,  now  that  he 
lived  among  white  men. 

Mr.  Tuscan  stood  with  his  back  against  a  tall 
pine,  and  pointed  with  pride  to  the  old  and 
young  members  of  his  congregation,  as  he  talked 
to  Mr.  Balch,  who  had  come  out  from  the  East 
to  see  this  village  community.  He  could  not 
refrain  from  expressing  his  astonishment  at 
these  people,  who  talked  English,  desired  educa 
tion,  were  capable  of  caring  for  themselves,  had 
framed  excellent  laws  for  the  village  community, 
were  dressed  as  any  villagers  on  the  Atlantic 
coast,  were  thoughtful,  agreeable,  intelligent, 
awake  to  their  own  interests,  and  most  hospita 
ble  to  him,  a  stranger.  Soon  the  Rev.  Leonard 
Williams,  a  native  preacher,  joined  them.  He 
came  from  the  village  six  miles  below,  and 


42  LOR1N    MOORUCK. 

worked  for  his  people  on  Tolstoi's  plan.  He 
earned  no  salary,  but  gave  all  he  had,  and  re 
ceived  in  turn  the  devotion  and  care  of  the 
people. 

At  noon  the  tables  were  spread  with  clean, 
white  linen  and  damask  cloths,  and  covered  with 
good  tableware,  with  glassware  and  castors, 
making  things  look  quite  homelike  to  Mr.  Balch. 
He  noticed  among  all  the  men,  women,  and 
children,  but  one  barefooted  child,  the  daughter 
of  a  white  settler.  They  were  kind  to  her,  and 
Meetah  saw  that  the  poor  little  thing  did  not  go 
away  hungry. 

After  lunch  Mr.  Balch  was  introduced  to 
Meetah,  and  she  quietly  saw  his  surprise  as 
she  turned  the  conversation  from  one  topic  to 
another  of  world-wide  interest.  Watching  them 
on  the  edge  of  the  forest,  stood  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  thick-lipped  man,  known  as  Bob 
McHenry.  He  scowled  as  he  watched  Meetah, 
for  he  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  smile 
at  one  white  man,  and  yet  show  disdain  for 
another.  He  faintly  remembered  her  running 
away  from  him  a  few  nights  since,  but  could 
not  distinctly  recall  why  he  had  not  followed 
her.  He  had  thought  she  detested  all  white 
men  ;  but  now  his  anger  grew  as  he  saw  that  she 
was  making  friends  with  this  finely  dressed  ten 
derfoot.  When  the  picnickers  arose  from  the 


THE    MENACE.  43 

table,  he  skulked  back  among  the  trees,  but  not 
before  Lorin's  keen  eye  had  studied  his  every 
feature. 

On  the  morrow  Meetah  and  Lorin  went  to 
the  village  church,  crowded  with  Christian  Indian 
worshippers,  and  knelt  side  by  side  at  the  chan 
cel  rail,  as  they  received  the  holy  communion 
from  the  hands  of  the  good  Mr.  Tuscan. 

As  they  came  home  from  church,  Joseph  and 
Hannah  paused  abruptly  :  they  had  been  in  deep 
converse.  Their  cheerful  greeting  did  not  de 
ceive  Meetah,  who  asked  immediately  what  dis 
tressed  them,  and  then  the  whole  story  came 
out. 

Soon  after  Lorin  and  Meetah  had  left  for 
church,  Bob  McHenry  came  in  and  presented  a 
bill  to  Joseph  Moore  for  $57.  He  claimed  that 
Joseph's  cattle  last  year  had  wandered  over  his 
cornfield,  and  damaged  it  to  twice  that  extent. 
Though  the  bill  would  have  been  preposterously 
ludicrous  to  a  white  man  who  owned  but  one 
cow,  yet  not  so  to  the  Indian  :  the  white  man 
might  employ  an  attorney  and  sue  Bob  McHenry, 
but  Joseph  had  no  right  to  sue  a  white  man, 
either  personally  or  by  aid  of  an  attorney,  though 
he  owned  but  one  cow  and  could  bring  proof 
that  she  had  been  kept  in  her  small  fenced  yard 
all  the  year.  This  proof  was  the  word  of  the 
Indians,  and  therefore  would  not  be  believed. 


44  LOR1N    MOORUCK. 

Bob  McHenry's  cattle  had  been  roaming 
through  the  village  for  over  a  year,  destroying 
cornfields,  grain,  and  vegetable  gardens,  and  all 
this  time  the  Indians  had  been  trying  to  get 
some  lawyer  to  bring  the  matter  into  court. 
Each  family  had  promised  to  pay  five  dollars, 
whether  the  lawyer  won  the  case  or  not ;  but  no 
man  would  undertake  it,  and  the  Indians  were 
obliged  to  suffer  loss. 

As  Bob  McHenry  left  the  house,  he  made  the 
proposition  that  if  Joseph  would  give  him  Meetah, 
he  would  call  the  account  square  ;  otherwise, 
they  had  best  leave  their  belongings  and  fly  to 
the  mountains,  for  the  stoniest  crag  in  the  land 
would  be  pleasanter  for  them  than  the  village, 
unless  the  money  or  Meetah  was  handed 
over. 

We  who  live  in  comfortable  homes,  protected 
by  the  United  States  law,  can  with  difficulty 
bring  ourselves  to  realize  the  cruelty  practised 
by  citizens  upon  these  people  from  whom  we 
have  withheld  the  protection  of  our  law. 

It  is  impossible  to  portray  the  feeling  of  horror 
and  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  terror,  that  made 
Meetah  shiver,  and  fired  Lorin's  blood,  when 
this  story  was  told.  "There  is  but  one  thing 
to  do.  We  must  leave  the  village,"  said  Hannah, 
sadly  looking  about  the  barely  furnished  room. 
"  Leave  our  home,  leave  all  our  friends  —  " 


THE    MENACE.  45 

"Not  so,"  said  Joseph.  "This  is  our  own 
home,  and  we  will  not  give  it  up." 

"  But  that  is  what  you  said  before,"  answered 
Hannah  ;  "  we  did  leave  our  home ;  they  drove  us 
out  in  a  single  night.  Here  we  have  but  begun 
to  make  another.  We  will  not  fly  to  the  moun 
tains.  We  shall  all  go  to  Crespy.  We  can 
each  work.  There,  if  we  make  a  home,  perhaps 
we  will  be  allowed  to  keep  it  —  to  stay  in  one 
place.  Joseph,  we  can  all  work  ? "  she  said 
appealingly,  for  every  one  was  silent. 

"  People  are  very  cruel,  Hannah,"  said  Meetah, 
standing  beside  her,  and  gently  smoothing  her 
glossy  hair.  "  They  do  not  understand  yet,  that 
all  we  desire  is  to  live  quietly  and  work  for  our 
daily  bread." 

"  But  they  must  understand  that  we  are  Chris 
tian  men  and  women  here  in  Nat  sec,"  said 
Hannah.  "There,  we  would  have  an  honest 
chance.  You  know  we  would,"  turning  to 
Mooruck,  who  had  remained  silent,  his  lips 
pressed  as  if  in  pain,  his  eyes  as  though  seeking 
something  in  the  distance.  "  You  yourself  told 
me  that  all  people  from  different  countries  were 
there  —  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  slowly  ;  "  there  is  a  place 
for  all  — but  not  for  us." 

"  But  what  is  the  difference  ?  why  not  ?  "  per 
sisted  Hannah,  her  voice  pitched  high  in  ex 
citement. 


46  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

Meetah  caught  Lorin's  questioning  glance, 
and  answered,  "Yes,  Lorin.  Tell  her." 

"  The  reason  why  you  cannot  go  there,  Han 
nah,  is  that  two  days  ago  there  was  an  offer 
made  and  published  in  both  weekly  papers  there, 
an  offer  of  two  dollars  and  a  half  for  the  scalp 
of  any  Indian.  It  ended,  '  Old  pioneers,  tempted 
by  the  reward  for  Indian  scalps,  are  out  on  a  hunt 
for  red-skins.  Some  killing  is  looked  for'  " 

"O  God!  Is  there  no  mercy  anywhere?" 
cried  Hannah,  shuddering,  and  covering  her 
eyes  with  her  hands  ;  worn  hands  that  had  care 
fully  carried  and  gently  cared  for  the  white 
daughter  of  a  sick  settler,  that  had  given  food 
to  the  hungry,  that  had  toiled  in  a  neighbor's 
field  to  save  the  strength  of  a  fast-failing  father, 
that  had  often  folded  in  prayer  for  another's 
good.  She  had  cared  for  her  Master,  who 
said,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  these 
my  brethren,  even  these  least,  ye  did  it  unto 
me." 

"  No.  There  is  no  mercy,"  said  Lorin.  "  We 
do  not  ask  for  pity.  We  ask  for  the  same 
chance  these  men  have,  who  offer  a  reward  for 
our  dead.  But,"  as  if  putting  something  aside 
as  he  raised  his  hand,  "  Our  Father  has  given  us 
the  chance  to  be  Christian ;  I  hope  we  will  re 
member  that  — 

Joseph  interrupted  him.     "  The  only  way  is 


THE    MENACE.  47 

for  us  to  fight.  Because  we  have  always  taken 
care  of  ourselves  and  been  peaceable,  they  think 
our  spirit  is  dead  ;  they  have  no  fear  of  us  ;  they 
think  there  is  nothing  left  us  but  to  die :  even 
rabbits  are  safer  than  we.  But  I  shall  not  leave 
the  home.  I  have  no  money  to  pay  Bob  Mc- 
Henry.  My  living  is  to  fish  :  no  white  man  shall 
ever  drive  me  from  here." 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  understand,"  said  Meetah, 
"that  the  people  who  were  good  to  me  East, 
and  the  people  here,  who  would  take  from  us 
all  we  have,  are  of  the  same  race." 

"  It  is  because  we  have  no  right  in  the  law," 
said  Mooruck.  "  If  they  will  but  give  us  the 
right,  give  the  right  to  our  people  in  the  village, 
we  would  soon  use  it.  Men  pity  us,  fear  us, 
hate  us  ;  when  we  have  the  law,  they  will  re 
spect  us.  I  do  not  fear  to  go  back  to  Crespy 
but  it  would  not  be  safe  for  you  and  Joseph  to 
come  yet."  Then,  in  an  altered  voice,  and  com 
ing  close  to  Hannah,  he  said,  "  I  went  to  the 
cliff  before  I  came  here  last  night  —  I  went  to 
find  my  bride.  Meetah  and  I  can  go  back  to 
gether.  No  harm  can  happen  to  us;  I  have 
good  friends  there.  But  it  will  be  best  for  you 
and  Joseph  not  to  come  just  now.  Meetah  will 
be  my  wife,  and  you  need  not  mind  the  threat 
of  any  one." 

"  No,  no !   I  would  not  let  her  go,"  moaned 


48  LOR1N    MOORUCK. 

Hannah.  "  We  must  pay  Bob  McHenry  the 
money." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  go  anywhere  with  Lorin  ; 
and,  Hannah,  you  cannot  get  the  money.  It 
would  be  very  sweet  to  go  back  with  you, 
Lorin,"  she  said,  coming  to  where  he  stood  and 
laying  her  hand  fondly  upon  his  arm ;  "  but  per 
haps  we  can  arrange  matters  here.  Let  us  go 
to  Mr.  Tuscan  ;  he  will  surely  have  some  way  to 
help  us." 

They  were  each  glad  of  her  idea,  and  all  went 
at  once  to  the  good  man's  home.  He  advised 
them  to  wait.  Bob  McHenry  would  not  make 
them  leave  the  village  just  yet,  he  thought,  and 
in  order  that  he  might  not  put  into  execution 
his  terrible  threat  against  Meetah,  she  must 
come  and  live  with  them  awhile.  He  and  Mrs. 
Tuscan  both  insisted  upon  this :  she  could  sleep 
in  the  room  with  the  children.  Meetah  said 
she  was  not  at  all  afraid,  but  to  please  Mooruck 
she  consented  to  this  plan. 

Joseph  and  Hannah  went  to  see  some  friends 
in  the  village,  Lorin  to  make  arrangements  for 
leaving  early  in  the  morning ;  and  Meetah,  taking 
the  child,  went  home  to  put  her  few  belongings 
in  a  small  box ;  for  it  had  been  settled  that  she 
should  go  to  Mrs.  Tuscan's  at  sundown. 

While  the  child  was  made  happy  with  a  bright 
bit  of  worsted,  Meetah  put  a  few  underclothes, 


THE    MENACE.  49 

two  or  three  cotton  gowns,  and  some  worn 
books  into  the  little  box ;  but  before  she  had 
quite  finished,  the  child  became  tired  and  fret 
ful,  and,  taking  it  in  her  arms,  she  sang  a  sweet 
lullaby.  After  laying  the  sleeping  child  in  the 
cradle  she  started  to  finish  her  packing,  when 
the  outer  door  was  roughly  opened,  and  Bob 
McHenry  stepped  into  the  room. 

Meetah  started  back,  but  asked  in  a  low, 
steady  tone,  "What  is  your  business?" 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  treat  your  callers ! " 
he  exclaimed.  '-'Not  over  cordial  —  but  never 
mind,  Dumfrey,  come  on,"  as  he  turned  to  the 
door  he  had  left  open. 

In  it  appeared  a  tall,  thin  man  with  long  hair, 
buckskin  trousers  fringed  at  the  side,  a  cartridge 
belt  about  his  waist,  and  at  his  side  a  pistol  and 
dirk. 


50  LORIN    MOORUCK 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MEETAH    LEAVES    HOME. 

MEETAH  saw  at  a  glance  that  both  men  were 
armed,  but  she  stood  dauntless,  with  steady 
gaze. 

"  Alone,  hey  ?  "  queried  Bob,  with  a  half  leer, 
as  he  looked  about  the  room. 

"No,"  said  Meetah,  "not  alone."  The  blood 
surged  to  her  brow.  Heaven  was  not  far  off ; 
she  felt  strong.  The  men  supposed  her  wholly 
at  their  mercy,  but  she  knew  a  greater  Power 
guarded  her.  The  helpless  child  in  the  crib 
needed  protection  also,  and  this  thought  gave 
her  courage. 

"  Don't  see  nuthin'  but  the  kid,"  said  Dum- 
frey,  laughing,  as  he  pointed  to  the  child  asleep. 

"  If  you  have  come  to  see  Joseph  Moore,  he  is 
not  here,"  said  Meetah,  in  a  harsh  voice.  "  What 
is  your  business  ?  speak  quickly  and  go." 

"Did  you  see  my  bill?"  said  Bob,  with  an 
ugly  leer. 

Meetah  looked  steadily  at  him,  but  made  no 
reply. 

"  I  saw  yer  talkin'  ter  that  tender-foot  yester- 


MEETAH    LEAVES    HOME.  5  I 

day,  an'  thought  yer  might  as  well  have  me  as 
him.  Didn't  know  as  yer'd  decided  on  a  white 
man  before.  He's  one  o'  them  soft  fellers  that 
couldn't  hit  a  crow."  He  was  slowly  drawing 
his  pistol  out,  and  Meetah  quietly  watched  him. 
"But  I,"  he  said  with  gusto  —  "why,  there 
ain't  no  one  as  says  I  ain't  the  best  shot  herea 
bouts."  He  came  slowly  toward  her.  "Kin 
you  fire  a  pistol  ? " 

"  Give  it  me  and  let  me  try,"  said  Meetah, 
her  eyes  flashing  as  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Did  yer  ever  see  murder  in  an  eye  ? "  said 
Bob,  hoarsely  laughing  and  turning  to  Dumfrey, 
who  still  stood  near  the  door. 

"  Hold  up,  Bob,  and  come  away.  You  ain't 
in  good  visitin'  trim  to-day,"  was  the  answer. 

"Who  says  I  ain't?"  he  retorted,  suddenly 
squaring  himself.  "  No  one  can  handle  a  six- 
shooter  like  me." 

He  raised  his  revolver  to  take  aim,  and  before 
Meetah  could  think  what  he  would  do,  he  stood 
beside  her,  his  pistol  pointed  toward  the  crib. 
"  See  how  near  I  can  come  to  the  kid  without 
hittin'." 

With  a  swift  motion  Meetah  threw  herself 
forward,  all  her  weight  upon  his  raised  arm  ;  but 
too  late  :  click  went  the  trigger,  the  ball  swerved 
and  whizzed  by.  Meetah's  eyes,  wide  with 
terror,  were  riveted  upon  the  child.  She  rushed 


52  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

across  the  room  and  caught  it  in  her  arms ;  a 
cry  escaped  her,  a  cry  of  nervous  relief  as  the 
ball  lay  imbedded  in  the  crib,  and  the  startled 
child  was  unhurt. 

"Yer  needn't  be  afraid,"  said  Bob.  "I  was 
just  givin'  an  exhibition  of  my  shootin'.  Now, 
if  yer'll  hold  it  in  yer  arms,  up  like,  I'll  knock 
its  eye  out  without  so  much  as  touchin'  a  hair 
on  yer  head;  but  if  yer  will  — 

He  never  finished  the  sentence.  He  .was 
seized  from  behind  with  a  firm  hand,  and  sud 
denly  found  himself  outside  the  door.  Gradu 
ally  he  awoke  to  the  realization  that  he  had 
been  ignominiously  kicked  out.  He  could  see 
Dumfrey  running  down  the  hill.  With  a  terri 
ble  oath  he  turned  to  enter  the  house,  but  found 
the  door  closed  and  bolted.  Like  a  tiger  that 
has  been  denied  its  prey,  he  hungered  to  make 
the  man  who  had  flung  him  forth  his  victim. 
Softly  he  glided  down  the  mountain  path ;  he 

could  wait  to  spring.  "  But  that fool  who 

kicked  him  out  should  feel  what  it  was  to  pay 
for  his  fun ! "  For  a  few  moments  he  was  so 
entirely  mastered  by  his  animal  nature,  that  his 
rage  blinded  him  as  to  whom  it  might  be,  —  he 
was  glutting  his  imagination  with  the  vengeance 
he  would  wreak,  —  but  it  was  an  easy  matter  to 
spot  the  man.  Cautiously  creeping  back  to  the 
house,  he  crawled  along  to  the  side  window  and, 


MEET  AH   LEAVES    HOME.  53 

peering  in,  saw  Lorin  Mooruck  with  the  child 
in  his  arms,  sitting  near  Meetah,  whose  back 
was  toward  the  window.  He  drew  his  pistol 
out ;  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  put  a  bullet  in 
the  back  of  her  head ;  but  as  she  leaned  for 
ward,  put  her  hand  upon  Lorin's  knee  and 
looked  up  into  his  face,  Bob  McHenry's  arm 
dropped.  He  seemed  quivering  with  savage 
glee ;  he  chuckled  hoarsely  to  himself,  and 
stealing  away,  muttered  between  his  broken 
teeth,  "  I  know  a  better  way  to  bring  yer  round, 
my  fine  young  squaw  —  a  better  way  ;  "  and  so, 
skulking  down  the  mountain  side,  he  came 
upon  his  cowardly  partner  waiting  for  him  be 
hind  a  huge  boulder. 

He  twitted  and  threatened  him  by  turns  for 
running  from  so  small  game  as  a  lone  Indian, 
then  forgave  him  enough  to  reveal  his  fiendish 
plan.  Together  they  talked  it  over,  rolling  from 
side  to  side  with  boisterous  laughter.  Dum- 
frey's  explosive  words  were  tinged  with  deep 
enjoyment  as  he  ejaculated  between  bursts  of 
hee-haws,  "  You're  a  rare  one !  you'll  get  both 
birds  with  one  stroke  !  " 

"You  cannot  remain  here  longer,  Meetah," 
Lorin  was  saying.  "  I  could  scarce  keep  my 
fingers  from  that  man's  throat ;  but  if  I  did 
violence  to  him,  I  knew  every  one  in  the  village 
would  be  made  to  suffer.  Death  is  too  good  for 


54  LORIN    MOORUCK, 

him ;  hell  not  bad  enough.  To  think  that  you 
can  be  in  danger  from  that  fiend  !  " 

"  It  is  not  so  much  that  I  am  in  danger,"  she 
answered.  "I  will  come  to  no  worse  harm  than 
death,  if  that  be  harm  ;  and  oh,  it  would  !  How 
could  I  give  up  our  future !  Why  cannot  we 
live  like  other  people !  We  are  hunted  and 
hounded  as  though  we  were  cursed.  Do  the 
people  in  the  East  know  there  are  white  sav 
ages  ?  They  talk  of  helping  us.  Oh,  if  I  could 
but  speak  to  the  world  and  tell  the  truth ! " 

"  We  are  so  far  away,  they  cannot  realize  our 
true  life,"  he  answered. 

"  But  we  have  no  chance  to  work  out  our 
lives.  They  border  our  villages  with  the  de 
praved  white  people  their  crowded  cities  will 
not  tolerate ;  and  at  last,  when  we  refuse  to 
submit  to  these  border  thieves,  they  think  in 
the  East  —  why,  there  are  savages  there,  but 
they  always  picture  them  red  savages.  There 
is  no  one  to  tell  our  story.  Do  you  think  if  I 
were  to  speak,  any  one  would  listen  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Meetah ;  I  think  there  are 
some  prejudiced  people  who  remember  only  the 
past.  They  would  think  you  the  only  developed 
person  out  of  your  whole  people." 

"But  look  at  Leena,  at  Natsee,  at  John 
Turner,  Elmer,  Francis,  —  why,  no  end  of  our 
friends  who  are  as  anxious  as  we  —  " 


MEETAH    LEAVES    HOME.  55 

11 1  know,"  he  interrupted;  "but  you  could 
not  take  them  with  you.  You  could  not  dissolve 
deep-rooted  prejudice  in  an  instant ;  it  must  be 
gradual.  If  we  had  a  surer  faith  that  what  we 
did  was  not  altogether  hopeless,  we  would  do  it 
better ;  more  men  and  women  in  the  village 
would  take  heart.  Our  people  have  lived  here 
in  peace  for  over  sixty  years ;  but  if  we  are  to 
be  denied  the  right  to  our  own  homes  and  driven 
away  by  violence,  we  shall  have  to  fight.  Peo 
ple  are  so  used  to  hear  that  we  are  driven  from 
our  homes,  that  it  makes  no  impression  upon 
them  :  they  cannot  picture  what  it  means  to  us. 
If  it  were  a  different  people  in  a  foreign  country 
who  were  thrust  out,  they  would  sympathize 
with  them,  raise  money,  offer  them  homes  here, 
no  matter  how  degraded  they  were ;  but  we,  no 
matter  how  we  strive  to  improve,  they  have  no 
sympathy  for  us  in  this  country ;  they  think  we 
are  not  human." 

"  But  they  were  kind  to  me,  Lorin,"  she  said, 
softly  rubbing  her  cheek  against  that  of  the 
cooing  child,  which  had  glanced  up  frightened 
into  Lorin's  face  as  he  spoke,  and  held  out  its 
arms  to  her.  "  They  cling  to  the  picturesque, 
and  fancy  we  are  always  riding  wild  horses,  with 
feathers  stuck  in  our  hair.  If  they  saw  me  in 
this  common  calico  gown,  saw  me  at  the  wash- 
tub,  or  teaching  school,  I  know  they  would  be 


56  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

provoked,"  she  said,  laughing.  "But  I  do  get 
very  much  out  of  patience,  and  sometimes," 
raising  her  earnest  eyes  to  his,  "sometimes  I 
feel  so  strong  in  spirit,  as  if  I  could  do  so  much 
for  us  all,  and  suddenly  I  imagine  a  sea  of  white, 
incredulous  faces  turned  to  mine  —  then,  I  am 
sick  at  heart.  I  feel  that  we  are  misunderstood 
by  people  willing  to  help  us,  if  they  could  only 
realize  that  we  are  eager  and  willing  to  help 
ourselves  ;  but  the  reports  they  hear  are  always 
of  Indians  who  fight ;  one  side  only  is  shown ; 
they  do  not  know  how  for  very  home,  life, 
wife,  child,  the  Indian  has  been  driven  to  fight. 
There  are  many  people  whose  hearts  are  filled 
with  good  purpose.  The  false  impression  they 
have  of  us  works  us  the  greatest  wrong.  I  saw 
it  when  I  was  East :  all  the  people  looked  and 
wondered  that  I  was  an  Indian,  and  yet  had 
their  ways  and  knowledge ;  half  of  them  do  not 
remember  that  through  an  Indian's  exertion  in 
lecturing,  a  great  part  of  the  money  for  Dart 
mouth  College  was  raised.  They  are  always 
amazed  to  see  us  educated." 

"  It  is  too  late  to  turn  back,"  Lorin  answered. 
"  We  must  advance.  But  the  pity  of  it  is  that 
we  have  not  yet  learned  the  grasping  tendency 
of  the  whites.  I  was  trying  to  persuade  old 
Samson  to-day  that  the  white  man's  God  was 
full  of  love  and  compassion,  but  he  said,  '  I  do 


MEETAH    LEAVES    HOME.  57 

not  believe  it.  The  white  man's  God  is  money. 
I  pray  to  the  Great  Spirit,  but  the  white  man 
prays  to  money  —  the  silver  dollar.' ' 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  Samson's  impression. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  I  only  thought  of 
our  lives,  —  yours  and  mine ;  but  all  my  life  I 
have  been  weighted  with  the  sorrows  of  our 
people." 

"It  is  because  you  are  a  brave  woman,"  he 
answered,  tenderly  and  proudly,  "  and  never  will 
be  content  to  live  to  yourself.  Whatever  you 
do  will  be  right,  Meetah.  If  you  go  out  to 
make  the  world  hear  the  truth,  be  sure  my  spirit 
always  will  be  near  you.  Nothing  can  part  us  ; 
death  itself  would  not  forbid  my  love  to  reach 
you,  or  yours  to  affect  all  my  being."  He  arose, 
and  leaning  back  of  her  chair,  touched  her  hair 
with  his  lips.  "  I  am  sure  you  carry  a  blessing 
with  you  wherever  you  go,  whatever  you  do. 
Meetah,  if  I  should  ever  — 

"What  was  that,  Lorin  ? "  cried  Meetah, 
starting  up. 

There  was  a  slow  rattling  movement  of  the 
kitchen  door :  both  went  out  to  see,  and  as 
Lorin  unfastened  and  opened  wide  the  clap 
board  door,  Joseph  and  Hannah  entered.  Meetah 
heaved  a  quick  sigh  of  relief  to  find  it  was  only 
they;  a  smile  curved  the  corners  of  her  mouth, 
as  she  became  conscious  of  her  nervousness. 


58  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

Hannah's  face  was  radiant  with  smiles ;  Joseph 
looked  solemn,  but  no  longer  troubled. 

"  We  have  the  money  !  "  Hannah  exclaimed. 

"The  money!"  ejaculated  Meetah,  with 
clouded  brow. 

"  Well,"  said  Hannah,  "  not  exactly  the  money, 
but  just  as  good.  The  Iroots,  Hamptons,  John 
sons,  and  others  have  said  they  would  give  the 
money  to  us  that  they  would  have  given  the 
lawyer  if  he  had  taken  up  the  case  against  Mc- 
Henry." 

"But,"  interposed  Meetah,  "because  of  their 
sympathy  they  do  not  stop  to  think  that  you 
would  be  paying  Bob  McHenry  for  spoiling 
cornfields." 

Hannah  looked  troubled  and  disappointed. 
Lorin  felt  sorry  for  her,  and  said,  "  Don't  you 
see,  Hannah,  that  what  Meetah  says  is  true  ? 
If  you  gave  him  the  money  that  was  to  have 
been  used  to  try  the  case  against  him,  you  would 
really  be  paying  him  for  cheating  you.  Don't 
you  see,  Joseph,  that  by  giving  him  the  money, 
you  will  be  acknowledging  that  your  one  cow 
destroyed  his  fields?  Can't  you  see  that  it 
would  be  absurd  ?  You  ought  not  to  give  the 
man  one  cent.  Let  the  matter  rest  awhile. 
Meetah  will  be  safe  at  Mr.  Tuscan's,  and  I  will 
see  if  my  good  friend  Mr.  Harrold  cannot  get 
this  thing  straightened  out :  there  certainly  is 


MEETAH    LEAVES    HOME.  59 

some  way.  I  will  start  to-night  instead  of  to 
morrow,  and  see  Mr.  Harrold  in  the  morning. 
I  am  sure  he  will  help  us." 

"  Tell  your  friends  we  do  not  want  the 
money,"  said  Meetah,  persuasively.  "They 
were  all  too  good  to  offer  it.  We  will  see  if  we 
are  not  in  some  way  protected  by  the  law." 

"When  you  see  Bob  McHenry,"  said  Moo 
ruck,  turning  to  Joseph,  "  tell  him  I  will  settle 
all  with  him.  Meetah  will  be  at  Mr.  Tuscan's, 
and  you  will  be  safe  here  for  a  little  time." 

"Easy  to  say,"  Hannah  replied  dejectedly, 
as  she  threw  off  her  shawl,  and  took  the  child 
from  Meetah.  "  Fair  words  are  easily  said  and 
easier  forgotten.  It  is  one  thing  to  look  at  the 
sunshine,  but  one  needs  more  heart  to  face  the 
gloom.  Bob  McHenry  is  a  crafty  man,  and  we 
have  no  protection  against  him." 

It  took  a  great  deal  of  patient  showing  before 
Joseph  and  Hannah  could  be  made  to  see  that 
they  must  not  give  McHenry  money ;  as  for 
the  shooting,  neither  Lorin  nor  Meetah  men 
tioned  it. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Meetah 
bade  them  good  by,  and  with  Lorin,  who  car 
ried  her  little  box,  went  to  the  Tuscans'. 

After  tea  was  over,  Mr.  Tuscan  and  his  wife 
left  Lorin  and  Meetah  to  visit  alone,  and  when 
they  returned  from  the  evening  service,  they 


6O  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

found  Lorin  still  there.  He  arose  in  surprise 
as  they  entered.  He  was  to  leave  that  night, 
and  yet  the  time  had  seemed  so  short  he  had 
not  dreamed  how  late  it  was. 

Meetah  followed  him  to  the  gate.  The  sad 
ness  of  the  lingering  parting  only  enhanced  the 
brightness  of  their  future  life  when  nothing 
would  separate  them. 

At  last  Lorin  was  gone,  and  Meetah  brooded 
alone  in  the  darkness,  miserably  happy.  "  Ah  !  " 
she  sighed,  "  these  three  days  have  passed 
like  no  others  in  my  life  —  never  to  be  lived 
again.  Yet,  if  I  try,  my  life  will  grow  better, — 
our  days  may  be  more  beautiful.  I  ought  to  be 
a  noble  woman  with  such  happiness  as  this  in 
my  heart."  Turning  about,  she  entered  the 
house  with  smiling  face. 


MR.  HARROLD'S  LETTER.  61 


CHAPTER   VII. 
MR.  HARROLD'S  LETTER. 

LORIN'S  eyes  were  raised  to  the  stars  as  he 
rode  over  the  foot-hills  at  the  base  of  the  moun 
tain,  his  whole  being  filled  with  the  grandeur  of 
the  unalterable  will  and  purpose  of  his  Creator, 
the  sublimity  of  space,  the  fathomless  radiance 
above.  The  vast  silence  awed  him  ;  he  paused 
a  moment,  drinking  in  the  glory  of  the  whole. 
Then,  in  a  rich,  soul-vibrant  voice,  his  spirit 
alive  with  adoration,  he  broke  forth  into  the  Te 
Deum  Laudamus,  and,  as  he  wound  on  around 
the  mountain  slope,  answering  echoes  followed 
him,  the  mountain's  voice  quivering  with  the 
ascending  praise  and  exultation. 

When  Meetah  awoke  next  morning  and  found 
herself  in  the  Tuscans'  home,  she  could  not  at 
first  remember  where  she  was;  but  soon  she 
was  up,  helping  the  children  dress,  and  after  an 
early  breakfast,  hurried  as  usual  to  the  school- 
house. 

At  night  she  came  home  tired  but  expectant, 
hoping  for  some  word  from  Lorin.  He  would 
be  at  Crespy  that  morning,  and  certainly  Pietro, 


62  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

the  mail-carrier,  who  was  his  friend,  would  bring 
some  message  to  her  as  he  passed  through  the 

village  on  his  way  to  Fort  S ;  but  no  letter 

came  that  day.  Meetah  sighed,  smiled,  and 
knew  she  had  expected  to  hear  too  soon. 

The  next  day,  when  she  went  to  the  store 
and  asked  for  a  letter,  she  was  again  disap 
pointed,  but  the  store-keeper  gave  her  a  letter 
for  Mr.  Tuscan.  It  was  directed  in  a  broad, 
clear  hand,  and  bore  the  postmark  of  Crespy. 
Meetah' s  heart  was  aflutter  as  she  walked  along 
and  gazed  at  the  letter  in  curious  wonder  —  it 
might  have  some  message  for  her ;  but  she 
laughed  at  her  own  impetuosity,  and,  handing  it 
to  Mr.  Tuscan,  flew  away  to  her  room  to  work 
out  some  difficult  problem  in  arithmetic  for  the 
morrow's  lesson.  She  wished  to  make  sure  she 
had  not  forgotten  it ;  beside,  it  would  serve  to 
work  off  her  nervous  expectancy.  Scarcely  had 
she  opened  her  book  when  Mr.  Tuscan  called 
from  the  bottom  of  the  stairs.  She  hurried 
down  and  found  him  in  the  sitting-room. 

"Take  a  chair,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said,  spread 
ing  the  letter  out  upon  his  knees,  and  readjust 
ing  his  spectacles. 

But  Meetah  stood  waiting.  Something  in 
his  voice  startled  her.  He  looked  up  over  the 
brim  of  his  spectacles,  as  she  remained  standing. 
Instantly  her  old  habit  of  obedience  came  back ; 


MR.  HARROLD'S  LETTER.  63 

she  seated  herself  upon  the  edge  of  a  chair 
opposite,  and  was  silent  with  dread. 

"This  letter  is  from  Mr.  Harrold,"  Mr.  Tus 
can  explained;  "it  is  about  Mooruck." 

She  did  not  speak. 

He  looked  up  at  her.  "Would  you  like  to 
read  it,  my  dear?" 

"Thank  you,  yes."  She  eagerly  held  out  her 
hand  for  it.  The  kind  minister's  troubled,  gray 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  face  as  she  read  :  — 

Town  of  Crespy. 

Monday  evening. 
DEAR  MR.  TUSCAN  :  - 

I  have  often  heard  Lorin 
Mooruck  speak  of  you,  and  know  you  will  give 
him  this  message. 

She  looked  up  at  the  date.  It  was  written 
Monday. 

I  do  not  direct  the  letter  to  him,  because 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  double  play  hereabouts 
where  an  Indian  is  concerned.  I  fear  he  would 
never  receive  it.  Will  you  kindly  tell  him  that 
I  expected  him  to-day. 

Meetah  caught  her  breath. 

Tell  him  to  come  as  soon  as  possible.  Work 
is  promised  that  only  he  can  finish.  I  know 
some  matter  of  importance  has  detained  him, 
but  tell  him  to  start  immediately,  and  you  will 
greatly  oblige, 

Yours  very  truly, 
ANDREW  HARROLD. 


64  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

• 

She  handed  the  letter  back.  "  Mr.  Balch  goes 
to  Crespy  in  to-night's  stage,"  she  gasped.  "I 
will  go  too.  Lorin  is  sick.  We  will  find  him 
somewhere  on  the  road.  Quick !  Mr.  Tuscan, 
get  me  some  brandy,  some  linen,  some  food. 
Please  send  Henry  to  Mr.  Balch  to  say  that  I 
will  go  too." 

Before  Mr.  Tuscan  could  speak,  she  had  left 
the  room. 

"This  will  never  do,"  muttered  the  minister, 
shaking  his  head  and  calling  for  his  wife  Nancy, 
whose  wise  counsel  helped  him  out  of  many 
difficulties.  She  appeared  in  the  door-way,  her 
hands  covered  with  flour.  After  reading  the 
letter  she  carefully  wiped  her  hands,  smoothed 
down  her  apron,  and  announced  decidedly  :  "No 
biscuits  for  supper  to-night !  Of  course  she 
wants  to  go,  —  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world,  poor  child  !  Go  find  your  old  satchel, 
Philip ;  I  will  put  the  necessary  things  in  it.  It 
is  in  the  garret  somewhere,  —  on  the  top  shelf, 
I  think,  beside  those  pamphlets.  I  will  go  and 
help  Meetah,  poor  girl ! "  And  she  bustled  off 
with  motherly  tenderness. 

"Well!"  Mr.  Tuscan  ejaculated,  "they  cer 
tainly  take  things  in  an  odd  way.  I  will  not 
tell  them  what  I  think.  Poor  Meetah  !  "  Drop 
ping  upon  his  knees  he  offered  a  prayer,  asking 


MR.  HARROLD'S  LETTER.  65 

with  fervor  that  Lorin  and  Meetah  might  each 
be  protected  from  all  harm. 

When  he  arose,  his  first  thought  was  to  see 
Mr.  Balch.  He  entirely  forgot  about  the  satchel, 
the  linen,  brandy,  and  food ;  he  opened  the 
outer  door  and  walked  rapidly,  with  head  bent, 
down  the  path,  almost  knocking  down  a  woman 
in  his  haste. 

"Oh!  it  is  you,  Hannah!" 

'I  suppose  Meetah  is  in  the  house?"  she 
asked. 

"Yes;  she  is  in  the  house,"  he  answered 
slowly,  taking  time  to  think  whether  it  would 
be  best  to  tell  Hannah  about  the  letter  or  not. 
Then  after  due  consideration  he  said  :  — 

"  Have  you  heard  about  Lorin  ?  " 

"  Only  that  he  was  at  Smike's  Ranch  at  day 
light  Monday.  You  have  heard  from  him  since 
he  got  to  Crespy,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Who  told  you  he  was  at  Smike's  Ranch  ? 
Did  any  one  see  him  there  ? " 

"  Tomlinson  told  Joseph  he  saw  him  and 
spoke  to  him  there." 

"You  had  better  go  and  tell  Meetah,"  said 
Mr.  Tuscan.  "  She  had  not  even  heard  that 
much  ;  we  were  afraid  something  had  happened 
to  him.  Tell  Meetah  I  want  to  see  her  too, 
will  you?"  and  he  followed  Hannah  into  the 
house,  and,  while  she  found  her  way  up  stairs, 


66  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

lay  back  in  an  easy-chair  wondering  what  means 
he  had  best  use  to  prevent  Meetah  from  starting 
for  Crespy. 

He  waited  some  time,  revolving  over  and  over 
different  means  of  persuasion  that  might  have 
effect  upon  her,  yet  she  did  not  come.  Over 
head  he  heard  a  treading  to  and  fro,  accom 
panied  by  the  low  voices  of  women ;  growing 
impatient,  he  opened  the  door  to  call  her,  but 
she  was  coming  slowly  down  the  stairs,  followed 
by  Hannah,  who  passed  swiftly  across  the  room, 
wishing  him  good-night  as  she  closed  the  porch 
door. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  you,"  smiled  Mr. 
Tuscan,  good-naturedly.  "  Your  sister  has  told 
you  the  news  ?  " 

Meetah  bowed  her  head. 

"It  is  much  better  for  you  not  to  go  :  it 
would  be  a  useless  journey.  Lorin  got  to 
Smike's  Ranch  all  right,  and  in  all  probability 
there  is  some  mistake  in  Mr.  Harrold's  letter  — 
some  error  about  the  date.  If  he  is  in  Crespy, 
Mr.  Harrold  has  seen  him  by  this  time.  Wait 
until  to-morrow.  It  will  be  useless  for  you  to 
go,  perfectly  useless,"  he  repeated,  as  she  made 
no  reply  and  stood  perfectly  still,  no  trace  of 
excitement  in  either  her  face  or  manner.  Some 
how  all  his  preconceived  logic  vanished ;  his  sym 
pathetic  nature  overcame  all  reasoning  power, 


MR.  HARROLD'S  LETTER.  67 

his  heart  ached  for  her,  and  perhaps,  after  all, 
Mooruck  had  not  reached  Crespy.  "  It  is  almost 
time  for  the  stage  now/'  he  continued,  resolved 
to  be  prudent.  "You  are  not  ready,  and  it  is 
best  that  you  decided  not  to  go." 

"  You  have  always  been  very  good  to  me,  Mr. 
Tuscan"  —her  soft  eyes  fixed  upon  his  kindly 
face.  "  Until  now  I  have  always  been  glad  to 
take  your  wise  counsel ;  but  now,  —  I  think  I 
know  myself  what  is  right  now."  She  came 
toward  him  with  both  hands  outstretched.  "  You 
will  forgive  me  ?  I  know  you  mean  to  be  a  good 
friend  to  us  both,  but  you  would  not  ask  me  to 
leave  Lorin,  dying,  alone,  in  misery,  without 
aid?" 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  his  eyes  moist  as  he 
took  her  hands  in  one  of  his,  softly  stroking 
them  with  the  other,  "  perhaps  you  are  right ; 
I  do  not  dare  to  judge.  I  will  go  for  the  satchel, 
as  Nancy  said." 

She  detained  him.  "  There  is  no  need  ;  Mrs. 
Tuscan  found  an  old  bag  for  me.  My  things 
are  packed.  I  am  all  ready  when  I  put  on  my 
bonnet  and  shawl." 

"  I  will  go  and  tell  Mr.  Balch,  then.  It  be 
hooves  me  to  be  active,"  -  —  with  a  smile,  —  "  else  I 
might  break  down,  for  you  are  so  brave,  dear 
girl!" 

Her  calmness  distressed  him  more  than  tears. 


68  LOR1N    MOORUCK. 

"  I  shall  be  thankful  if  you  will  see  Mr.  Balch 
and  say  I  would  like  to  go  with  him  —  but  one 
moment,  please,  until  I  tell  you  my  plans.  Han 
nah  has  gone  to  ask  Elmer  Stone  to  come  too. 
He  was  going  into  Crespy  the  last  of  the  week. 
Lorin  rode  a  horse  of  his,  and  he  is  going  to 
bring  it  home  with  him.  He  is  going  to  visit 
Lorin.  I  thought  he  might  start  with  me  to 
night  ;  he  has  a  pony  I  often  ride.  Hannah 
has  gone  to  ask  him  to  bring  that  too,  so  that 
after  we  reach  Smike's  Ranch  we  can  go  off 
the  main  road,  over  the  mountains,  and  search 
for  Lorin.  He  will  likely  bring  John  Turner 
with  him,  and  they  will  ride  with  the  stage 
until  we  reach  the  ranch.  Then  I  will  mount, 
and  we  will  start  off.  I  remember  hearing 
Lorin  say  that  a  shorter  road  ran  along  the 
slope  of  the  mountain  ;  he  may  have  taken  that. 
Hannah  will  see  about  some  one  to  take  my 
place  in  school,  though  whom,  I  cannot  think." 

"  No  matter,  my  dear ;  don't  worry  about  that ; 
I  can  easily  get  some  one  to  fill  your  place.  I 
have  a  man  in  my  mind  this  very  minute  —  he'll 
do  first  rate,"  said  Mr.  Tuscan  cheerily,  think 
ing  of  himself.  "Now  I  will  go  and  see  our 
friend,  Mr.  Balch.  I  could  not  consign  you 
to  better  hands.  He  is  a  fatherly  man,  has 
daughters  of  his  own  at  home,  and  I  am  sure 
he  will  care  for  you." 


MR.  HARROLD'S  LETTER.  69 

Mrs.  Tuscan  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  Mee- 
tah  to  take  some  food  before  the  stage  came. 
When  the  rumbling  stage  drove  up,  Meetah,  in 
bonnet  and  shawl,  with  her  bag  in  hand,  was 
waiting  at  the  gate.  Several  people  in  the  vil 
lage  had  heard  of  her  going,  and  a  knot  of  men 
and  women  had  gathered  to  bid  her  good  by 
and  God  speed. 

She  knelt  with  bowed  head  as  an  old  man 
with  wrinkled  face  and  long  white  hair  feebly 
raised  his  hands  in  blessing  over  her.  He  was 
the  oldest  man  in  the  village,  and  much  rev 
erenced  by  the  people  :  it  was  a  good  omen, 
they  whispered,  that  he  was  there  to  bless 
Meetah. 

Elmer  Stone  was  there  also,  and  called  to 
Meetah  as  the  stage  drove  off,  "  I  will  be  up 
to  you  before  the  stage  reaches  the  ranch  :  you 
can  trust  me  to  be  there  when  you  need  me." 

She  smiled  sadly,  waving  her  hand.  She 
knew  well  that  Elmer  would  keep  his  word. 

Over  the  creek  and  around  the  mountain  they 
rode  in  the  coming  dusk,  Mr.  Balch  keeping 
silent,  for  he  knew  Meetah  was  busy  with 
serious  plans.  The  darkness  fell,  and  still 
they  rode  over  creek  and  mountain,  the  little 
rill  of  water  coming  back  again  and  again  for 
the  nineteenth  time,  till  they  left  it  and  plunged 
into  a  narrow  ravine.  The  night  grew  apace, 


7O  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

the  moon  hid  her  light,  and  on  they  rode,  dark 
mountains  rising  on  either  side  like  huge  mon 
sters.  Meetah  leaned  far  out,  trying  to  catch 
sight  of  the  stars  that  unwillingly  glimmered 
amidst  the  passing  clouds ;  then  wearily  throw 
ing  herself  back  against  the  seat,  she  exclaimed  : 
"I  wish  I  had  my  knitting,  something,  any 
thing  to  do  —  anything  but  this  terrible  waiting 
with  hands  folded.  A  thousand  thoughts  rush 
through  my  mind,  the  last  more  horrible  than 
the  first.  What  do  you  think  could  have  hap 
pened  to  Lorin  ? " 

Mr.  Balch,  appealed  to  in  this  passionate 
manner,  endeavored  to  imagine  something  to 
detain  Lorin,  something  with  no  evil  following. 
At  last  he  said,  "  No  doubt  his  horse  has  gone 
lame,  and  he  is  obliged  to  walk." 

"Ah!  yes,"  Meetah  answered  slowly ;  "if  it 
only  were  that,  but  —  "  then  she  tightened  her 
lips  and  became  silent. 

As  the  morning  dawned,  they  wound  around  the 
curved  mountain  road,  down  into  a  deep  canon, 
and  out  upon  an  open  plain ;  stray  cattle  graz 
ing  here  and  there  told  of  some  habitation  near. 

Meetah  leaned  far  out  of  the  stage,  glancing 
back  to  see  if  Elmer  Stone  and  his  friends  were 
coming ;  but  no  one  followed  them. 

"You  think  they  will  come  in  time,  do  you  ? " 
Mr.  Balch  asked  anxiously. 


MR.    HARROLD  S    LETTER.  /I 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  Elmer  will  come.  He  will 
be  in  time.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  I  might 
have  to  wait  at  the  ranch — I  could  not.  If 
they  are  not  there  when  we  arrive,  I  shall  go 
on  alone,  on  foot.  I  cannot  wait  to  see  where 
Lorin  is  and  what  has  happened." 

"  If  they  are  not  there,  I  shall  go  on  with 
you,"  Mr.  Balch  said  decidedly.  "  I  presume 
they  could  accommodate  me  at  the  ranch  until 
to-morrow." 

"I  would  not  have  you  wait,"  Meetah  inter 
posed.  "  I  am  not  afraid  to  go  alone,  but  Elmer 
promised  to  bring  the  pony  for  me.  I  am  sure 
he  will  come.  They  were  not  to  leave  until 
midnight ;  and  if  they  took  the  road  over  the 
mountain,  they  ought  to  come  out  on  this  plain 
somewhere  near  here,  as  that  path  joins  this 
road.  They  will  surely  come." 

She  relapsed  into  silence ;  but  as  the  wheels 
revolved,  her  thoughts  kept  time :  "  The  horses 
are  so  slow  —  so  slow  —  so  slow.  Drive  faster, 
faster,  faster !  O  God !  keep  him  safe  from 
harm !  If  the  driver  would  let  me  urge  the 
horses  once,  just  once.  If  they  would  go 
faster,  faster,  faster  !  " 

Suddenly  behind  them  arose  a  cloud  of  dust ; 
they  could  see  the  ranch  in  the  distance,  —  a  low, 
rambling,  one-storied  dwelling  made  of  mud  and 
stones.  The  ranch  was  now  only  a  quarter  of 


72  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

a  mile  away ;  cattle  were  grazing  near  the  road  ; 
goats,  watched  by  a  faithful  shepherd  dog, 
stopped  nibbling  and  raised  their  bearded  chins 
and  staring  eyes,  as  the  creaking  stage,  with  its 
white,  dust-covered  horses,  drew  near.  Still 
nearer  came  the  cloud  of  dust ;  Meetah  looked 
out.  "Thank  God,  they  have  come  at  last!" 
she  said  reverently,  but  at  that  moment  shots 
struck  the  stage.  One  of  the  horses  plunged, 
reared,  and  fell;  the  stage  stopped  with  a  jerk. 
The  air  was  filled  with  the  sound  of  cries  and 
whizzing  bullets. 

Mr.  Balch,  in  excitement,  anger,  and  surprise, 
thought,  "This  is  treachery  —  so  much  for  an 
Indian's  promise ! " 

But  Meetah  heard  Elmer's  voice  above  all  the 
din.  "  Quick  !  It  is  the  people  at  the  ranch  ;  a 
flag  of  truce  !  " 

She  snatched  part  of  a  sheet  from  her  bag, 
that  was  meant  for  bandages.  Seizing  Mr.  Balch' s 
umbrella,  she  tied  one  end  to  it,  and  sprang  out 
amidst  the  shots  and  cries. 


THE    LIGHT    STRUCK   OUT.  73 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    LIGHT    STRUCK    OUT. 

THE  people  at  the  ranch,  seeing  the  white  flag, 
suspended  hostilities.  Elmer  Stone  urged  his 
pony  toward  Meetah,  and  leaning  over,  took  the 
flag  from  her  trembling  hand,  as  he  murmured, 
"  Bravely  done,"  and  galloped  on  toward  the 
ranch. 

Two  of  his  friends  came  forward  to  help  the 
stage  driver,  who  was  striving  to  remove  the 
harness  from  the  dead  horse ;  a  third  bent  over 
the  wounded  form  of  a  comrade.  Meetah  has 
tened  to  him.  With  Mr.  Balch  as  assistant, 
she  succeeded  in  binding  the  wounded  arm  of 
young  Wahsoo ;  she  gave  him  some  brandy  from 
the  flask  in  her  bag,  and  then  left  his  friend  to 
care  for  him  while  she  and  Mr.  Balch  walked 
quickly  toward  the  ranch. 

An  excited  group  crowded  about  the  door  of 
the  long,  low,  mud-colored  building.  In  their 
midst,  his  back  toward  Meetah  Tocare  and  the 
Eastern  gentleman,  was  Elmer  Stone  demanding 
an  explanation.  Back  in  the  hall,  near  the  door, 
were  the  shrinking  forms  and  white  faces  of  the 


74  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

women.  The  question,  in  Meetah's  eyes  and 
on  her  lips,  was  for  Lorin,  but  she  controlled 
her  impatience  and  waited. 

"  I  see  no  excuse  for  your  firing  upon  us  as 
though  we  were  a  pack  of  hungry  wolves,"  Elmer 
was  saying.  "What  were  you  afraid  of?" 

"That's  just  it.  We  seen  a  lot  of  Injuns 
swoopin'  down  on  us,  and  thout  we'd  show 
fight." 

"Smike,  you'd  best  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it,"  said  one  of  the  men,  nudging  him ;  "no  one's 
goin'  to  take  your  scalp." 

Smike  looked  cautiously  about,  as  though  an 
assassin  lurked  near,  and  lowering  his  voice, 
said :  "  The  truth  of  it  is,  we  thout  you'd  come 
down  to  burn  th'  ranch  and  murder  every  moth 
er's  son  of  us.  We  thout  you'd  come  for  re 
venge.  That's  the  whole  of  it ;"  spreading  his 
hands  as  though  having  laid  bare  his  soul. 

"That's  a  queer  story,"  said  Elmer  Stone; 
"  revenge  for  what  ?  " 

Smike  glanced  around  keenly  at  his  own  men 
and  answered:  "We  heard  of  a  row  a  few  miles 
beyond,  down  by  th'  creek,  between  some  whites 
an'  some  of  the  men  from  your  village.  You 
might  ride  on  an'  see  if  you  rec'nize  any  of  'em. 
We  thout  mebbe  you  might  toss  the  blame  on 
us.  We'd  nothin'  to  do  with  it.  We  seen  you 
comin'  on  in  the  dust,  an'  thout  there  was  more 


THE   LIGHT    STRUCK    OUT.  75 

on  you.  I'm  sorry  'bout  the  firm',  but  blessed  if 
I  could  a  held  th'  men  back." 

While  he  spoke,  Elmer's  quick  eye  glanced 
into  the  hall  where  the  women  were  huddled 
together.  He  noticed  two  strapped  trunks,  and 
near  them,  shawls  and  bags :  the  women  wore 
bonnets. 

"Why  are  the  women  going  to  leave  the 
ranch?"  he  asked  suddenly.  "They  were  evi 
dently  going  on  this  stage.  You  have  killed 
the  horse  :  unless  you  put  one  in  its  stead  they 
will  have  to  wait."  Fixing  his  clear,  penetrative 
gaze  upon  Smike,  he  continued :  "  We  will  not 
remain  much  longer  waiting  for  the  truth.  You 
have  not  told  it.  Why  are  the  women  to  leave  ? 
and  why  do  you  persist  in  lying  ?  As  I  rode  up, 
I  saw  that  cream-colored  mare  over  there :  this  is 
not  the  first  time  I  have  seen  that  animal.  You 
might  as  well  tell  the  truth  now,  and  here."  He 
dismounted,  and  holding  his  pony  by  the  bridle, 
walked  up  and  faced  Smike. 

As  he  spoke,  each  one  in  the  group  glanced  at 
the  mare,  grazing  at  the  end  of  its  lariat  rope, 
but  neither  Meetah  nor  Mr.  Balch  understood 
the  reference. 

"I'm  not  afraid  to  tell  th'  story  if  you  want 
it,"  blurted  out  Smike,  who  was  in  truth  a  good 
fellow,  but  had  been  until  now  inventing  tales, 
that  the  women  might  have  time  to  get  off.  It 


/6  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

was  evident  that  Elmer  Stone  was  no  hostile; 
the  truth  might  as  well  be  told. 

"  Monday  mornin'  come  along  a  man  from 
your  village,  an'  wanted  breakfast  here.  Of 
course  you  know  he  rode  that  there  cream 
mare." 

Meetah's  cheeks  paled,  her  lips  parted,  her 
eyes  glowed. 

"He  carried  a  tony  rifle  with  him." 

Yes;  Meetah  remembered  the  beautiful  ini 
tials  he  had  carved  upon  the  butt. 

"He  was  standin'  right  along-side  of  th' 
biuldin',  leanin'  on  his  rifle  like,  waitin'  for  his 
grub,  when  up  rides  two  settlers.  I  could  spot 
either  one  of  th'  rough  cowards.  I  saw  'em  after ; 
only  th'  women  was  here  then.  One  on  'em, 
th'  biggest,  drops  off  his  horse,  comes  up  to  the 
Injun  an'  says,  '  Le'  me  have  that  gun!'  My 
old  woman  told  me  the  Injun  says,  'No,'  and 
somethin'  'bout  squarin'  accounts.  With  that 
the  man  calls  out,  'Dumfrey,  jump  off  an'  take 
it.'  T'other  fellow  jumps  from  his  horse  and 
reaches  for  the  rifle.  Back  steps  the  Injun. 
T'other  man  knocks  the  Injun  down  from  be 
hind  ;  the  Injun  struggles,  but  th'  man  with  the 
rifle  springs  forward  and  knocks  the  Injun  over 
th'  head.  He  fell  in  the  doorway  there.  The 
women  begged  the  men  not  to  murder  him;  his 
tribe  would  come  and  kill  us ;  but  they  dragged 


THE    LIGHT    STRUCK    OUT.  77 

him,  half  senseless  as  he  was,  and  killed  him. 
We  buried  him  yonder  on  the  plain." 

An  agonized  shriek  pierced  the  air,  making 
the  men  and  women  shiver.  Meetah,  wild-eyed 
and  with  terrible  force,  staggered  toward  the 
man,  and  grasping  him  by  the  arms,  cried  out, 
"  The  truth !  Is  that  the  truth  ? " 

He  started  back,  terror-stricken,  gasping,  as 
he  tried  to  shake  himself  free,  "  Take  her  off ! 
She  is  mad  !  " 

Elmer  turned  upon  Mr.  Balch.  "Had  you 
no  mercy,  no  pity,  to  bring  her  here  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  Meetah' s  arms  fell.  "  You  do 
not  believe  it  is  true,"  she  said,  raising  her 
tortured  face  to  him. 

"  I  fear  something  terrible  has  happened,"  he 
said  in  an  awed,  solemn  voice. 

She  turned  slowly  from  one  face  to  another 
in  the  silent  group,  with  eyes  that  seemed  to 
have  lost  their  sight ;  then  her  gaze  rested  upon 
Elmer  Stone.  She  pointed  her  finger  at  him, 
saying,  in  a  rapid,  smothered  voice,  "You 
know  Lorin.  Take  me  to  him." 

"  Heaven  knows  I  would  if  I  could.  Thank 
God!  she  does  not  realize  what  has  happened." 

"The  grave  is  over  yonder,"  jerked  out 
Smike,  pointing  over  on  the  plain. 

"  Come  !  "  and  Meetah  wildly  grasped  at  El 
mer's  arm.  "Come  !  He  needs  me." 


78  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

Elmer  handed  the  reins  of  his  pony  to  a  man 
near.  The  men  and  women,  who  had  crowded 
around,  fell  back  in  awed  silence.  Meetah  fol 
lowed  close  upon  Smike's  footsteps,  as  he  led 
the  way,  her  arms  crossed  beneath  the  back  of 
her  head,  her  eyes  upon  the  ground  as  though 
searching  for  something  lost.  Elmer,  in  pain 
and  sorrow,  walked  near  her,  Mr.  Balch  follow 
ing.  In  the  background  were  the  men  and 
women,  uncertain  whether  to  come  or  to  remain 
where  they  were. 

Upon  the  broad  prairie,  surrounded  by  rug 
ged  mountains,  lay  a  little  mound  of  newly 
turned  earth.  About  it  grouped  the  four  peo 
ple,  the  men  with  heads  uncovered,  Meetah  in 
the  same  strange  position,  her  eyes  upon  the 
dark  mound. 

Suddenly  she  loosened  her  arms,  looked  up 
with  wide,  dark-lined  eyes,  and  in  a  voice  never 
to  be  forgotten,  asked,  "Will  you  not  leave 
me  ?  It  is  mine.  Leave  me  to  my  own."  Her 
eyes  fell,  her  lips  trembled;  and  as  they  turned 
away,  she  cast  herself  upon  the  ground,  moaning 
piteously. 

The  three  men  stood  at  a  distance  beneath  a 
clump  of  young  trees,  Elmer  Stone  with  prayers 
and  entreaties  begging  them  to  go  away  and 
leave  Meetah  to  herself ;  he  would  watch  over 
her  from-  a  distance.  "  Some  people  might 


THE    LIGHT    STRUCK   OUT.  79 

faint  with  grief,  but  her  sorrow  is  too  deep  for 
that." 

Finally  they  left  him  watching.  He  strove 
painfully  to  realize  her  grief,  to  put  himself  in 
perfect  sympathy  with  her. 

Meetah's  mind  aroused  itself  to  a  dim  con 
sciousness  of  darkness  closing  in  upon  every 
side.  She  could  not  escape  it ;  she  might  fight 
to  the  death,  but  this  darkness  would  choke  her. 
She  could  never  wake  in  light  again.  She 
might  dig  deep  into  the  earth,  but  this  darkness 
would  surround  her.  What  to  do  !  Face  it, 
stifle  it,  yet  would  it  arise  and  envelop  her.  A 
moment  ago  Lorin  was  with  her  —  in  a  breath 
he  was  gone,  annihilated.  It  took  but  a  mo 
ment.  Something  had  happened.  They  were 
never  again  to  be  together.  She  was  left  alone 
in  a  cold,  vast  space  where  he  would  never 
come.  Why  should  a  moment  drag  all  light 
from  a  life  ?  a  moment,  such  a  little  thing,  why 
should  it  be  a  gulf  to  divide  happiness  from 
eternity  ?  Happiness  —  eternity  —  what  were 
they  ?  She  laughed  shrilly.  What  was  either  ? 
No  one  could  tell.  People  always  differed  over 
nothing;  there  was  neither.  She  half  raised 
herself  upon  her  hands ;  her  shawl  and  bonnet 
had  fallen  off.  Why,  the  sun  was  shining  !  It 
was  round  and  bright  —  was  that  God  ? 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  the  earth.     "  That  damp 


8O  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

mound,  what  is  it  ?  "  she  muttered.  "  Ah,  Lorin's 
statue !  that  is  it ;  they  are  trying  to  hide  it. 
They  have  buried  it ;  they  are  afraid  people 
will  see.  They  fear  he  will  be  great.  Ha-ha  ! 
ha-ha !  He  shall !  He  shall !  I  will  uncover  it. 
Lorin,  never  fear;  you  shall  be  great !  " 

With  tugging  and  hasty  breathing,  she  dug 
in  the  wet  clay,  clawing  handfuls  of  the  earth 
away. 

Elmer  Stone,  hearing  the  insane  laughter, 
hastened  to  her,  but  not  until  the  ghastly  form 
of  Lorin  Mooruck  lay  half  uncovered,  as  she 
bent  above,  crooning  a  soft  lullaby. 

Horrified  and  amazed,  he  knew  tha^  much 
depended  upon  his  self-command. 

"What  are  you  doing  ?  "  he  said  sternly. 

She  started  and  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
blank  stare. 

"Come,  get  up.  You  are  going  to  Crespy." 
He  held  out  his  hands  to  her.  "  Come ;  we  are 
going  to  Crespy." 

Slowly  a  light  seemed  to  dawn  in  her  bewil 
dered  face ;  she  half  arose,  then  turned  to  look  : 
suddenly,  with  a  terrible  cry,  she  seemed  to 
realize  what  was  before  her.  She  got  hastily 
upon  her  feet.  "They  made  him  suffer.  Re 
venge  !  that  is  all  that  is  left."  She  paused, 
turned  slowly  backward,  and  with  arms  out 
stretched,  cried,  "  Lorin,  Lorin,  come  back  to 


THE    LIGHT    STRUCK    OUT.  8 1 

me.    O  God!  I  cannot  bear  it!  Lorin!  Lorin!" 

She  took  one  step  forward  and  fell  heavily. 

******* 

The  sun  was  shining,  the  birds  were  singing, 
and  the  yellow  stage,  drawn  by  a  white  horse 
and  a  small  cream-colored  mare,  came  rattling 
over  the  prairie  on  its  way  to  the  village  of 
Natsee :  in  it  were  two  well-dressed  men  from 
Maine.  The  younger  was  hastily  making  notes 
as  they  jolted  along,  He  was,  for  the  time,  a 
special  correspondent  for  a  New  York  weekly. 

The  older  man,  a  senator,  had  come  out  to 
this  unknown  country  for  new  scenes  and  sights, 
to  rest  his  mind  and  exercise  his  body,  after  a 
busy  city  life. 

"  Hollo  !  "  said  the  younger,  as  the  plain  dis 
appeared,  and  they  plunged  into  a  ravine,  "  what 
is  that  curious  object  over  there?  No.  You 
are  looking  the  wrong  way  ;  the  other  side  of 
the  ravine  —  something  j  ogging  along.  Couldn't 
be  a  buffalo  all  by  himself." 

"  Possibly ;  I  hardly  think  so,"  replied  the 
senator.  "  Some  curious  phenomena  of  the 
West.  I  see  you  have  your  pencil  ready." 

"  Yes,"  laughed  the  younger.  "  Down  she 
goes  when  we  get  nearer." 

An  hour  afterwards  he  wrote  :  "  Five  Indians 
on  the  mountain  path  —  one  leading  six  horses, 
using  his  left  hand  —  stolid,  well-knit  fellows. 


82  LORIN  MOORUCK. 

Use  ponies  only  in  war ;  when  travelling  save 
the  ponies'  muscle  and  waste  their  own.  In 
dians  with  close-cut  hair  and  civilized  dress  ! 
Four  of  them  carrying  a  box  —  weight  heavy ; 
two  poles  attached  to  box,  one  on  either  side." 

"  There,  ^there !  now  we're  near  enough  to 
speak.  I  say,  driver,  driver !  Give  you  a  dol 
lar  to  stop  ten  minutes  !  Hope  they'll  pay  well 
for  this  article."  The  horses  are  pulled  up  ;  the 
stage  stops. 

"Hollo  there!"  cries  the  enthusiast;  then 
sotto  voce,  "Don't  suppose  they  know  a  word 
of  English." 

The  men  stopped  ;  the  one  following  with  the 
ponies  also  stood  still. 

"  Where  are  you  bound  for  ? " 

Elmer  Stone  answered,  "  For  the  village  of 
Natsee."  The  four  men  slowly  lowered  their 
burden,  resting  it  upon  the  ground. 

"You  speak  English!  Is  that  the  way  you 
carry  freight  ? "  asked  the  correspondent,  pencil 
in  hand. 

Elmer  Stone  did  not  answer;  but  Wahsoo, 
who  was  leading  the  ponies,  spoke  in  a  hushed 
voice :  "  It  is  the  body  of  our  friend,  Lorin 
Mooruck." 

"  Ah  ! "  the  correspondent  paused,  then  asked, 
"  You  have  his  horse  with  you  ?  Was  it  an 
accident  ? " 


THE    LIGHT    STRUCK    OUT.  83 

Elmer  pointed  to  one  of  the  horses  drawing 
the  stage  :  "  That  was  the  horse  he  rode.  No 
accident :  he  was  killed  in  a  brutal  manner  by 
two  white  men  who  attacked  him  in  the  pres 
ence  of  some  helpless  women." 

"Why  did  they  kill  him?" 

"  It  is  a  sport  of  some  white  men  here,  an 
amusement." 

"  But  why  do  you  carry  him  that  way  ?  why 
not  bury  him  at  home  ? " 

Elmer  turned  his  deep  eyes  upon  the  ques 
tioner.  "  He  has  gone  to  his  Home.  We  are 
taking  the  shell  back  to  the  place  of  his  child 
hood." 

Surprised  at  the  answer,  the  correspondent 
turned  to  his  friend,  "  Queer  !  "  —then  to  Elmer, 
"  Don't  suppose  you  know  that  a  bill  has  passed 
Congress,  making  you  citizens  of  these  United 
States;  under  certain  conditions,  though." 

"  I    have   heard,"    was    the    laconic    answer. 

"  Your  land  is  to  be  apportioned  to  individ 
uals;  after  that  you  are  citizens." 

"Each  of  us  has  his  patch  of  land  now, 
marked  off  and  fenced.  Under  your  law  we 
cannot  rent  our  land  —  it  would  be  of  no  use 
then  to  us  who  work  in  the  lumber  mills  and 
have  no  time  for  farming,  or  to  the  men  who 
can  the  salmon  ;  beside,-  one  hundred  and  sixty 
acres  could  not  be  found  together  for  a  farm  — 


84  LORIN  MOORUCK. 

we  live  among  the  mountains  ;  as  for  grazing, 
few  of  us  have  enough  cattle  to  need  much  land 
for  that.  Your  law  is  good  for  some  Indians, 
but  not  for  us.  All  white  cities  have  not  the 
same  laws,  neither  will  one  law  be  good  for 
all  Indian  villages  —  make  it  to  suit  different 
cases.  But  we  want  courts,  we  want  law.  He 
was  a  citizen,"  pointing  to  the  rough  box  upon 
the  ground,  "subject  to  your  laws.  Let  us  see 
if  he  will  be  protected  by  them." 

It  was  rather  embarrassing  to  the  correspon 
dent,  who  had  come  out  to  teach  the  Indian,  to 
find  him  talking  about  law  and  the  practical  use 
of  a  bill  approved  by  the  educated  men  of  the 
nation  who  were  interested  in  the  aboriginal's 
welfare  ;  but  swallowing  his  chagrin,  he  asked, 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  law  protecting  him  ? 
He  is  dead." 

"Yes,  murdered  without  cause  by  a  white 
settler,  a  citizen.  A  coward  striking  out  the 
life  of  a  pure,  noble  soul.  We  will  see  what  the 
law  does.  The  white  man  comes  here  and 
preaches  God  and  right ;  beside  him  come  other 
white  men  sacrificing  the  lives  of  our  women 
and  children.  There  is  a  flag,  it  is  said,  to  pro 
tect  those  under  it ;  but  us,  you  put  outside  of 
it.  A  week  ago  your  citizens  offered  a  reward 
for  the  scalp  of  any  one  of  us.  In  our  village  is 
law  and  order,  but  outside  of  it,  here,  lawless- 


THE    LIGHT    STRUCK    OUT.  85 

ness  and  death  reign.  You  talk  of  the  law ; 
what  use  is  it  unless  you  can  enforce  it  ?  Your 
law  is  bought  and  sold  here.  We  pay  no  tax  ; 
therefore  your  men  hold  us  not  worth  the  law. 
You  wish  us  to  become  part  of  the  Republic. 
You  legislate  ;  even  this  law  you  speak  of,  what 
is  it  unless  properly  carried  out  ?  You  form 
laws  for  our  good  ;  at  the  same  time  you  allow 
border  men  to  take  law  into  their  own  hands. 
There  are  others  beside  philanthropists  who 
form  laws  and  carry  them  out."  He  pointed  to 
the  rough  coffin  with  tragic  intensity.  "  There 
is  their  answer.  Come  among  us  if  you  would 
have  the  right  done.  You  try  to  help  us  from 
too  long  a  distance.  Unless  you  are  ready  to 
come  and  see  your  good  plans  carried  out,  you 
merely  dream  about  us,  —  think  of  us  as  a  peo 
ple  unwilling  for  anything  but  a  forest  life.  Do 
not  come  to  the  village  and  see  a  poor,  striving, 
hard-working  mass ;  people  who  love,  hope, 
weep,  laugh,  and  die.  Go  back  to  the  East, 
think  you  have  made  good  laws,  and  there  is  an 
end  of  wrong ;  else  put  the  fire  of  your  soul 
into  the  work,  and  bring  us  your  law  to  be  car 
ried  out,  your  courts  where  justice  is  supreme. 
Bring  us  your  civil  protection.  Make  laws  for 
our  welfare,  but  enforce  them." 

The  newspaper  correspondent  felt  rebuffed. 
He  had  not  expected  to  meet  an  Indian  as  a 


86  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

man  to  respect.  He  imagined  them  helpless, 
dependent ;  he  meant  to  sympathize  with  them. 

The  Indians  took  up  their  burden.  The  stage 
rumbled  on,  while  the  eager  young  man  from 
Maine  dropped  his  head  forward,  lost  in  thought, 
and  the  older  man  murmured  :  — 

"  After  all,  he  is  right.  Making  a  good  law  is 
but  one  step  for  the  right ;  unless  one  sees  it 
properly  carried  out,  it  were  better  not  made. 
Some  people  will  let  their  interest  cease  when  a 
good  law  comes  into  view.  They  think  all  has 
been  done;  they  stop  at  the  most  important 
point,  —  that  of  seeing  it  put  into  practice.  A 
man  is  a  man  be  he  Indian  or  white ;  God  cre 
ated  each,  and  I  hardly  believe  one  was  made 
to  have  dominion  over  another.  Grant  you,  in 
tellect  is  a  power;  yet  would  I  rather  be  an 
Egyptian  mummy  than  a  man  all  thought  and 
no  feeling."  He  paused ;  he  was  having  the 
conversation  all  to  himself ;  the  correspondent 
was  leaning  over  his  note-book  with  pencil  fly 
ing  along  the  page. 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  CROSS  ON  THE  CLIFF.     8/ 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE    LITTLE    WHITE    CROSS    ON    THE    CLIFF. 

THE  people  at  the  ranch  were  very  good  to 
Meetah.  The  women  respected  and  were  sorry 
for  her ;  one  of  the  women  offered  the  use  of 
her  room,  when  they  carried  Meetah  in,  and 
there  she  was  laid. 

She  gradually  awoke  to  the  darkness  and 
despair  of  consciousness.  She  arose,  and  asked 
to  be  left  alone.  The  woman  quietly  withdrew. 
She  sat  by  the  closed  window,  alone  in  the 
strange  room.  She  pressed  her  fingers  to  her 
tearless  eyes.  Nothing  could  shut  out  the  past ; 
nothing  could  ward  off  the  future. 

In  a  desperate  moment  she  had  thought  to 
end  her  own  life  ;  but  that  would  only  be  putting 
her  further  away  from  Lorin  :  a  criminal  might 
never  go  where  he  was. 

Anything  would  have  been  easier  to  bear 
than  the  thought  that  Lorin  had  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  murderers.  If  he  had  died  of  some 
terrible  disease  she  might  have  thought  it  one 
of  the  plans  in  the  all-wise  Providence,  but  she 


88  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

could  never  think  such  a  violent  death  as  his 
the  result  of  any  Supreme  Will. 

She  arose,  shuddering.  What  was  her  own 
grief ;  her  own  loss  ?  They  would  press  their 
claims  always ;  but  Lorin's  future,  Lorin's  life, 
cut  off,  —  Lorin's  dreams  ended  here,  and  by 
whom  ?  Lorin  an  unwilling,  defenceless  victim, 
Lorin  struck  down  — 

She  rushed  from  the  room.  It  was  not  too 
late,  the  stage  had  not  gone.  They  were  trying 
to  master  the  cream-colored  mare ;  they  had 
been  hours  trying  to  harness  it. 

Elmer  Stone  stood  aloof,  his  hands  shading 
his  eyes  ;  Meetah  glided  to  him. 

"  You  will  take  Lorin  back  to  the  mountains 
he  loved  ?  Do  you  remember  the  cliff,  —  the 
place  where  Lorin  loved  to  dream  ?  — there." 

She  turned  away  ;  he  understood  what  she 
meant. 

Elmer  put  out  his  hand.  "  And  you  ?  Where 
are  you  going  ? "  His  voice  was  husky. 

"For  justice;  if  not,  then  revenge.  Mr. 
Harrold  will  help  me.  I  shall  go  to  him.  I 
shall  not  believe  there  is  a  God  in  heaven 
if  —  " 

"If  what,  Meetah?" 

"Oh!   I  do  not  know.     Do  not  ask  me  — 
Her  face  worked  painfully  as  she  turned  away. 

Mr.  Harrold  wondered  and  waited  for  Lorin 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  CROSS  ON  THE  CLIFF.     89 

three  days,  and  neither  sight  of  him  nor  word. 
On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  as  he  sat 
beside  his  log  fire,  in  the  sitting-room,  still  won 
dering  about  Lorin,  his  door  burst  open,  —  a 
woman  with  haggard  eyes  and  wan  features 
stood  upon  the  threshold. 

"  You  did  not  hear  my  knock,  and  I  could 
not  wait.  O  Mr.  Harrold,  help  me !  Lorin  is 
dead.  Killed  by  two  white  men  —  murdered  !  " 
Then  she  stood  staring  before  her.  Suddenly  : 
"  On  a  lonely  plain  I  found  him,  dead."  Eagerly : 
"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  Have  you  seen  Lorin  ? 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  for  I  am  Meetah  Tocare." 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  forehead,  then  with 
a  puzzled  look  :  "  This  is  Mr.  Harrold,  I  believe  ? 
I  am  Meetah  Tocare.  Have  I  told  you  about 
Lorin  ?  —  I  am  very  weary.  I  do  not  believe  I 
know  what  I  say,  I — ."  She  paused,  and  in  a 
hushed  voice  said,  "  He  told  me  of  this  room. 
Oh,  you  were  so  good,  so  kind  to  him !  Be  good 
tome.  Help  me — ." 

Mr.  Harrold  could  not  doubt  the  horrible 
truth.  All  that  Lorin  had  said  of  Meetah  came 
back  to  him.  Without  a  word  he  led  her  to  an 
easy-chair,  and,  going  to  the  cupboard,  brought 
a  glass  of  wine  and  put  it  to  her  lips.  She  drank 
it,  and,  leaning  back  her  head  wearily,  closed  her 
eyes.  He  stood  a  moment  gazing  at  her.  He 


QO  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

could  not  overcome  the  chilliness  creeping 
through  his  nerves. 

Softly  opening  the  hall  door,  he  called  his  wife, 
she  who,  as  Miss  Slater,  had  first  directed  his 
attention  to  Lorin  Mooruck.  He  spoke  to  her 
hurriedly  in  the  hall.  She  came  into  the  room 
and  knelt  by  Meetah's  side,  taking  the  long, 
slender  hands  of  the  Indian  girl  in  hers.  She 
tenderly  stroked  them,  while  the  hot  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks  at  sight  of  Meetah's  face. 

At  her  touch,  Meetah  unclosed  her  eyes, 
looking  long  and  earnestly  at  her  :  "  Yes,  Lorin 
spoke  of  you,  too.  You  were  good  to  him." 
She  leaned  forward  and  lightly  touched  Mrs. 
Harrold's  cheek  with  the  tip  of  her  finger. 
"Tears  !  You  will  help  me,  too,  then." 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  artist.  "There 
was  a  statue  —  you  will  let  me  see  it."  She 
arose,  steadied  herself  by  the  chair,  refusing 
assistance. 

"  Is  it  not  better  for  you  to  rest,  —  to  —  "  Mr. 
Harrold  paused. 

"  Me  rest  ?  me  rest  ? "  She  shook  her  head 
slowly.  "  No ;  no  more  rest  for  me ;  never 
again." 

He  left  her  in  the  studio  and  turned  silently 
away,  but  not  before  he  saw  her  start,  catch 
her  breath,  her  hand  to  her  heart,  pause,  then 
fling  herself  upon  her  knees,  her  lips  to  the  cold 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  CROSS  ON  THE  CLIFF.       9 1 

marble,  her  arms  thrown  protectingly  around  it, 
while  her  whole  form  shook  with  convulsive  sobs. 

"  Poor  thing,  poor  thing  !  Don't  you  think 
we  had  better  take  her  away  ? "  said  Mrs.  Har- 
rold,  raising  her  tear-stained  cheeks  to  her  hus 
band,  as  they  heard  the  heart-bursting  sobs. 

"No,"  he  said  taking  her  hands  in  his  ;  "no, 
Madge ;  these  are  probably  the  first  tears  the 
poor  heart  has  shed."  His  voice  trembled. 

She  laid  her  head  against  his  breast.  "  Our 
happiness  seems  wicked  in  the  face  of  grief  like 
that.  Tell  me,  is  it  because  we  are  white  and 
they  are  Indian,  is  that  the  reason  it  all  hap 
pened  ?  Isn't  a  man  a  man,  no  matter  about  the 
race  ?  Is  a  heart  and  soul  of  no  account  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  answered.  "God  for 
bid  that  this  wrong  should  be  laid  at  our  door, 
that  we  should  forget  the  soul,  forget  manhood, 
right,  and  justice." 

The  manner  of  Lorin's  death  was  very  indis 
tinct  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Harrold  and  his  wife, 
until  Mr.  Balch  came  and  explained  all  to  them. 

Great  anger  was  mixed  with  the  artist's  sor 
row  at  loss  of  his  friend.  He  swore  by  all  holy 
things  to  help  Meetah  Tocare.  He,  too,  cried, 
"If  not  justice,  then  revenge;"  but  first  he 
would  compel  the  law. 

Mrs.  Harrold  proved  a  friend  to  Meetah  ;  a 
sister  could  not  have  been  more  deferential  or 


92  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

thoughtful  to  such  grief.  Meetah  remained  the 
Harrolds'  guest  for  many  days  ;  looking  up  the 
law,  going  with  Mr.  Harrold  to  first  this  one  and 
then  that,  endeavoring  in  all  ways  to  urge  the 
law  to  mete  out  justice  to  Bob  McHenry  and 
Dumfrey,  of  whom  they  had  sufficient  evidence 
that  they  were  the  murderers. 

Meetah  spent  much  time  in  the  studio,  sitting 
silently,  her  eyes  on  Mr.  Harrold's  work,  or  else 
dee^p  in  dreaminess  gazing  at  nothing.  She 
loved  the  place  because  there  Lorin  had  begun 
to  realize  his  dreams. 

One  day  as  she  stood  beside  Lorin' s  half- 
finished  statue,  her  fingers  caressingly  upon 
the  marble,  she  looked  up  at  the  artist,  with 
dreamy  eyes  and  the  shadow  of  a  smile  about 
her  lips,  asking  with  hesitation,  "Would  it  be 
possible — do  you  think  I  could  ever  learn  to  do 
as  Lorin  did  ?  Do  you  think  with  years  of  per 
severance  and  work,  I  could  ever  go  on  with  this 
—  his  work  ? " 

Mr.  Harrold  shook  his  head :  "  I  am  afraid  not ; 
no  one  but  Lorin  could  finish  that." 

"It  is  like  my  life,"  she  murmured,  "half 
done  —  half  in  the  rough.  The  tools  are  dropped ; 
it  will  never  be  finished  as  was  meant." 

Mrs.  Harrold  dropped  her  white  sewing:  "Ah, 
Meetah,  you  have  that  within  you  which  is  im 
mortal,  that  which  is  meant  to  be  beautiful, 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  CROSS  ON  THE  CLIFF.       93 

never  to  die.  The  statue's  master  is  gone,  the 
spirit  is  dead.  Your  Master  lives  always,  His 
spirit  lives  in  you.  You  will  go  on  emerging  ; 
heart-break  and  bitter  sorrow  are  oftenest  the 
tools  with  which  His  work  is  perfected." 

Meetah's  eyes  flashed  up  at  her;  then  the 
tears  filled  them.  She  came  to  her,  pressed 
her  hand :  "  Thank  you,  my  sister.  You  have 
given  me  a  new  thought."  She  passed  silently 
from  the  room,  her  head  bent. 

Mrs.  Harrold  heaved  a  sigh  as  her  eyes  fol 
lowed  the  girlish  form.  "I  do  not  want  her  to 
give  up  her  young  life,"  she  said,  turning  to  her 
husband,  "in  endless  rebellion.  There  is  much 
useful  work  for  her  to  do  in  the  world;  she  has 
a  strong  influence,  a  fine  mind,  and  what  is 
more,  a  sympathetic  heart.  She  is  a  help  to  all 
who  know  her ;  there  are  many  weary  ones  for 
her  to  help.  Who  knows,  that  might  have  been 
her  mission, — to  taste  the  bitter  dregs  so  that  she 
might  be  able  to  administer  comfort  to  others." 

"  A  very  sad  life,  at  best,"  the  artist  answered. 
"  I  think  she  might  have  helped  others  quite  as 
much,  if  Lorin  had  not  been  brutally  murdered." 

At  last  Bob  McHenry  was  arrested  with  the 
rifle  in  his  hand.  There  could  be  no  mistake, 
for  the  initials  L.  M.  were  wondrously  carved 
upon  the  butt. 

Dumfrey  had  fled    the  country,    the    sheriff 


94  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

advising  him  to  do  so,  until  the  excitement 
should  have  died  out. 

The  testimony  of  Smike,  and  that  of  the 
women,  established  Bob  McHenry's  and  his 
accomplice's  guilt  beyond  a  doubt.  After  the 
testimony  and  the  examination,  six  thousand 
dollars  bail  was  accepted,  and  the  murderer 
released. 

Meetah  left  the  court-room  in  feverish  ex 
citement  ;  she  was  ready  to  return  to  the  village 
now  that  the  law  was  in  operation  ;  but  Mr.  Har- 
rold,  who  lingered  behind,  saw  the  murderer,  with 
the  judge,  cross  the  street  and  enter  a  saloon. 
He  followed  them,  and  was  in  time  to  hear  the 
judge  order  two  drinks,  and  raising  the  glass  to 
his  lips  say,  "  Here's  to  you,  Bob,  hoping  you'll 
come  through  the  business  A,  No.  i.  It'ud 
be  best  for  you  to  skip  the  country,  till  this 
Indian  girl's  friends  cool  off.  The  Indians'll 
have  to  get  out  of  the  way  soon  ;  they'll  object, 
but  we  wont  have  any  foolin'.  We'll  soon  settle 
the  red-skins  !  " 

When  Mr.  Harrold  bade  good  by  to  Meetah, 
the  next  morning,  he  had  not  the  courage  to  tell 
her  that  he  believed  Bob  McHenry  would  go 
unpunished. 

Meetah  was  back  among  her  friends, — those 
who  had  loved  Lorin  and  been  proud  of  him. 
They  gathered  about  her,  and  she  told  them  of 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  CROSS  ON  THE  CLIFF.      95 

his  statues.  She  left  Mr.  Tuscan  to  tell  how 
far  the  law  had  gone.  Some  of  the  young  men 
threatened  to  shoot  either  Dumfrey  or  Bob 
McHenry  on  sight ;  but  Mr.  Tuscan  exerted  all 
the  influence  he  possessed  among  them,  and 
they  promised  to  await  the  course  of  the  law. 

The  children  very  seldom  walk  from  the 
school-house  with  Meetah  now ;  she  asks  to  be 
left  alone,  and  sits  there  at  her  desk  for  hours, 
her  head  buried  in  her  hands. 

Every  day  she  walks  to  the  cliff.  Where  she 
and  Lorin  sat  of  yore  stands  a  little  white  cross 
at  the  head  of  a  grave. 

This  evening,  as  she  sits  there  in  the  twilight, 
a  horseman  gallops  up  to  Mr.  Tuscan's  door;  it 
is  Wahsoo  with  a  message  from  Mr.  Harrold. 
His  news  is  soon  told.  A  new  trial  had  been 
given  Bob  McHenry,  and  to-day  he  had  been 
proven  innocent. 

Little  does  Meetah  dream  of  the  word  that 
awaits  her,  when  she  goes  home  to  Hannah  this 
night.  She  sits  thinking  of  Mrs.  Harrold's  last 
letter,  wherein  she  urges  her  to  go  East  and 
lecture ;  to  tell  the  people  of  Lorin ;  to  show 
what  education  has  done ;  to  picture  the  village 
and  the  public  spirit  and  ambition  of  both  men 
and  women  ;  to  prove  that  "  a  man's  a  man  for 
a'  that."  Suddenly  Lorin's  words  came  to  her,  — 
those  he  spoke  that  Sunday  when  they  together 


96  LORIN    MOORUCK. 

waited  for  Hannah  and  Joseph,  the  day  she 
went  to  live  with  Mr.  Tuscan ;  the  air  seems 
vibrant  with  them  :  — 

"  If  you  go  out  to  make  the  world  hear  the  truth, 
I  will  always  be  near  you.  My  spirit  shall  help 
your 

She  sits  gazing  at  the  mountains  that  are 
softened  by  the  evening's  shadow,  her  arm 
thrown  over  the  grave.  A  rim  of  rosy  light 
quivers  in  the  blue  above,  then  gives  place  to 
gray  clouds  growing  darker  and  darker,  until 
they  envelop  Meetah  Tocare  and  shut  her  from 
our  sight. 


THREE   MEN   OF  WALLOWA. 


IN  the  far  distance,  snow-capped  mountains ; 
nearer,  billowy,  purple-hued  hills ;  yet  nearer, 
a  faint  touch  of  green  upon  the  hills,  and  at 
their  feet  a  valley,  through  which  winds  a 
limpid  stream. 

The  rudely  built  houses  scattered  over  the 
emerald  vale  are  owned  by  warm-hearted  men 
and  women  ;  people  who  once  owned  the  land 
on  which  they  lived,  but  who  have  been  forced, 
step  by  step,  to  yield  to  a  Superior  Power ;  a 
Power  that  permits  them  to  remain  here  a  little 
while,  then  jostles  them  aside,  their  labor  lost, 
their  homes  taken  from  them,  to  make  room  for 
people  from  foreign  lands. 

It  is  a  peaceful  village  to-night.  The  sun 
sheds  his  rich  light  over  hill  and  valley,  as  he 
sinks  beyond  the  mountain's  crest. 

The  bare,  square  building  across  the  field  is 
closed.  Teachers  and  pupils  have  gone  home 
to  rest.  The  herd  has  wound  around  the  hill 
and  down  the  valley,  and  the  bars  of  the  corral 
have  been  closed  for  the  night.  The  tired 


2  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

gleaners  have  left  the  field,  but  only  as  the  sun 
sank,  men  and  women  both  wending  their  way 
to  the  different  log  dwellings  ;  the  men  in  coarse 
working-dress,  the  women  in  worn  calicoes. 
Soon,  before  the  homes  of  many  is  built  the 
evening  fire. 

From  pine  boughs  and  burning  spruce  the 
flames  leap  high,  often  disclosing  the  family 
circle  around,  who  while  the  hours  of  the 
short  evening  away  with  weird  tale  or  merry 
song. 

The  more  studious  are  within  the  houses, 
poring  over  the  lessons  for  to-morrow,  old  and 
young  learning  to  read  and  write. 

In  among  the  trees  there,  a  little  to  the  right 
of  the  limpid  stream,  is  the  home  of  Lapwar. 
He  and  Medina,  his  wife,  are  within  the  house, 
talking  with  serious  air.  The  child  they  call 
Bright  Eyes  has  dropped  asleep,  the  tired  head 
upon  her  mother's  lap.  On  the  door-step  sits 
the  elder  daughter,  her  back  towards  the  room, 
but  her  dark  features  lighted  up  by  the  fire  that 
splutters  and  spurts  before  the  door-way  ;  it 
brings  into  bold  relief*  her  straight  nose  and 
strong  chin,  and  glints  along  the  heavy  braids  of 
her  dark  hair  that  fall  on  either  side  of  her  nar 
row,  sloping  shoulders. 

Her  unconscious  grace  has  won  for  her  the 
name  of  Bending  Willow,  and  many  are  the 


THREE  MEN  OF  WALLOWA.  3 

young  men  who  long  for  her  favor ;  among  them 
is  Creekie. 

He  has  been  jeered  and  laughed  at  for  his 
bashful  awkwardness.  He  may  be  in  the  midst 
of  a  village  crowd,  but  utterly  unconscious  that 
any  one  is  there,  save  Bending  Willow.  He 
wins  at  the  races,  he  wins  at  the  games,  but 
only  for  the  smile  of  Bending  Willow. 

To-night,  he  has  come  to  tell  her  of  his  love. 
He  is  half  concealed  by  the  trees  at  the  stream's 
edge,  as  he  watches  the  firelight  flicker  across 
her  face.  There  is  a  serious  dream-look  about 
her  eyes  as  the  uneven  flames  compel  her  gaze  ; 
she  in  the  light  and  warmth,  Creekie  shivering 
beside  the  stream. 

They  say  he  is  brave  in  all  save  love.  He 
plunges  boldly  forward,  the  branches  crackle 
under  his  feet,  he  has  an  air  of  shy  determina 
tion  as  he  goes  toward  the  girl,  but  suddenly 
she  raises  her  head  and  listens.  She  has  heard 
his  foot-step  ?  No.  Creekie  cowers  back  to  the 
stream  as  he  sees  the  glad  expectancy  of  her 
face,  the  love-light  in  her  eyes,  the  smile  about 
her  lips,  the  joyous  quivering  of  her  form  as, 
leaping  from  the  steps,  she  shyly  greets  White 
Swan,  the  tall,  careless  son  of  Chief  Sawyer. 

Creekie  watches  them  only  a  moment,  then  he 
slinks  back  to  the  shadow  of  the  trees ;  no  one 
sees  him,  no  one  knows  he  has  been  there ;  he 


4  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

has  read  his  fate,  but  in  the  smile  of  Bending 
Willow.  The  tall  trees,  by  the  water's  edge, 
bend  back  to  let  him  pass.  Alone  midst  the 
trees  in  the  darkness,  alone  with  his  heart's  sor 
row,  alone  through  the  long  hours  of  the  night 
he  wrestles  and  prays. 

A  few  years  since  he  might  have  sought  to 
appease  the  wrath  of  some  evil  spirit ;  but 
to-night  he  seeks  the  Great  Father  of  us  all. 
Poor  Creekie  has  always  been  favored  until 
now;  the  same  blind  rebellion  that  comes  to 
each  of  us,  at  times,  comes  to  the  bewildered 
Indian ;  the  same  heavy  curtain  that  shuts  out 
all  light  from  us,  at  times,  falls  for  him ;  were 
there  no  thunder-clouds,  no  lightning  would 
illumine  the  distance. 

"Faith  in  the  darkness  for  all  things,"  thinks 
Creekie,  "save  such  a  sorrow  as  mine."  But 
here  must  be  endurance  for  those  whose  love 
is  selfish;  happiness  for  those  whose  sorrow  is 
drowned  in  the  sight  of  the  beloved  one's  joy. 
Creekie's  first  thought  was  for  himself,  but,  be 
fore  the  night  wore  away,  his  heart  had  righted 
and  his  thought  was  for  the  happiness  of  Bend 
ing  Willow,  or  Suzette,  as  he  loved  to  call  her. 
He  could  always  be  near  her,  her  happiness 
would  content  him.  But  there  rose  a  bitter 
feeling  in  his  heart  towards  White  Swan.  The 
son  of  Sawyer  was  learned,  he  had  been  away 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  5 

three  years  at  school,  he  knew  more  than  most 
men  in  the  village. 

Suzette  had  known  White  Swan  but  a  short 
time,  while  Creekie  she  had  known  always ;  as 
children  they  had  gone  over  together  to  the 
mission  to  learn  and  play,  — it  was  the  mission 
ary's  wife  who  had  given  her  the  name  of  Su 
zette,  but  that  was  long  since. 

The  missionary  had  taught  them  the  sweet 
hymns  that  rose  at  morning  and  at  even 
ing  from  the  valley ;  but  a  great  sorrow  had 
come  upon  them, —  Creekie  shuddered  when  he 
thought  of  it ;  the  Indian  had  not  forgotten  it, 
neither  had  the  white  man. 

Some  years  ago  a  terrible  disease  broke  out 
among  the  Indians ;  there  was  a  death  each 
day,  sometimes  two,  sometimes  three,  —  nothing 
seemed  to  stop  the  scourge ;  mothers  watched 
their  suffering  children  die,  children  their  fa 
thers,  husbands  their  wives.  Again  and  again 
did  they  seek  their  "  medicine-man"  :  he  always 
gave  them  the  same  answer :  "  The  squaw  is 
dying,  the  papoose  wails  like  the  wind  in  the 
trees,  the  warrior  is  dead.  The  Red  Man  must 
live.  The  pale-faces  walk  among  us.  The 
pale-faces  must  go.  The  pale-faces  must  die 
that  the  Red  Man  may  live."  Always  the  same 
answer.  Sorrowfully,  slowly,  the  Indians  went 
back  to  their  sick  and  dying,  solemnly  they 


6  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

buried  their  dead.  Then  one  of  the  chiefs 
went  to  the  missionary  and  begged  him  to  leave 
them,  saying :  "  In  a  little  while  you  may  re 
turn."  But  the  missionary  smiled,  and  would 
not  go.  Then  the  Indian  told  him  of  the  strong 
influence  the  medicine-man  exerted  over  the 
tribe,  and  that  some  of  the  younger  members  of 
the  tribe  firmly  believed  that  he  had  brought 
this  plague  upon  them.  The  chief  could  not 
restrain  them  much  longer ;  they  would  not  sit 
quietly  by  and  see  their  people  die.  "My  hands 
and  those  of  my  people  are  free  from  the  white 
man's  blood.  We  have  protected  the  white 
man  against  other  Indians.  We  have  always 
been  the  white  man's  friend,  but  you  must  de 
part  from  us  now.  One  hand  is  stretched  out 
in  friendship  —  in  the  other  there  is  the  toma 
hawk." 

The  missionary  smiled  at  fear.  His  friends 
begged  him  to  leave ;  some  of  the  Indians  even 
went  to  his  distant  friends  and  asked  them  to 
persuade  him  to  go,  but  he  would  not  listen  to 
them. 

One  night,  as  he  passed  through  the  village, 
an  arrow  whizzed  towards  him.  No  one  knew 
who  sent  the  death-dart.  There  was  a  crazed 
young  man  in  the  village  who  had  lost  both 
wife  and  child  that  day,  —  perhaps  it  was  he. 

The  Indians  sought  revenge,  so  also  did  the 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  J 

white  man,  and  before  the  summer  was  over  war 
and  desolation  swept  through  the  valley. 

Years  had  passed  since  then  ;  the  Indians  had 
lost  more  than  the  whites.  Whom  shall  we 
blame,  the  superstitious  Indian,  or  the  reckless 
missionary  ?  The  Indians  had  warned  him  to 
depart,  only  for  a  little  time,  while  the  tribe 
were  crazed  with  grief  and  swayed  by  the  words 
of  their  medicine-man. 

Witches  were  burned  in  Massachusetts  when 
we  had  reached  a  much  higher  state  of  civiliza 
tion  than  the  Indians  in  this  village.  We  yet 
hold  an  entire  tribe  responsible.for  the  action  of 
one  or  two  men  ;  "  a  poor  law  that  will  not  work 
both  ways,"  yet  there  are  brawls  and  murders, 
almost  nightly,  in  Western  and  Southern  villages, 
where  the  murderers  are  not  even  brought  to 
justice,  much  less  the  whole  village  punished  for 
the  crime  of  an  individual  member.  I  do  not  ex 
cuse  the  Indian.  I  condemn  the  white  man's 
law  that  protects  the  criminal,  while  refusing 
the  law  to  the  Indian. 

The  morning  sun  rose  brightly  over  the  val 
ley,  and  with  it  rose  a  sweet  hymn  from  the 
Indian  village.  As  the  sound  died  away,  Lap- 
war  was  followed  into  the  house  by  his  wife  and 
daughters. 

Seating  themselves  before  the  morning  meal, 
Lapwar  bent  his  head  to  ask  a  blessing,  then 


8  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

served  his  wife  and  daughters.  It  was  a  merry 
meal,  with  much  laughter  and  joking,  but,  as 
Medina  followed  her  husband  to  the  door,  he 
bade  her  good-by,  with  sad  eyes,  saying,  "My 
heart  is  like  the  clods  I  go  to  break,  heavy  "  ; 
and  Medina  can  give  him  no  cheery  reply, 
their  conversation  of  last  night  still  weighing 
heavily  upon  her. 

The  white  people  beyond  their  village  have 
taunted  them  of  late,  the  settlers  have  en 
croached  upon  their  grounds,  some  of  their 
cattle  have  been  stolen  and  branded  by  these 
settlers.  Chief  Sawyer  has  been  twice  to  see 
about  it ;  he  has  been  told  no  one  can  prove  who 
stole  the  cattle.  "  But,"  he  urged,  "  I  can  point 
out  one,  one  that  belongs  to  Lapwar.  Bending 
Willow  made  a  pet  of  it.  It  is  tame  as  a  doe." 

"  But  there  is  no  use  in  your  appearing  against 
a  white  man  in  court ;  it  can't  be  done ;  the  jury 
will  acquit  him." 

It  was  only  true.  What  Western  jury  would 
agree  in  finding  a  white  man  guilty  who  had 
stolen  from  an  Indian  ?  A  Pole,  an  Irishman, 
a  Swede,  a  German,  a  negro,  has  the  protection 
of  the  law,  but  an  American  Indian  is  helpless. 
He  has  no  redress  save  that  of  war. 

But  this  morning,  as  the  men  were  working 
in  the  fields,  word  passed  from  one  to  the  other 
that  the  Great  Chief,  the  Governor  of  the  Terri- 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  9 

tory,  had  come  to  visit  them.  At  last  there  was 
hope.  He  would  see  their  wheat-fields,  their 
corn,  their  vegetables,  their  school-house,  their 
cattle  ;  he  would  see  that  they  were  trying  "  to 
walk  in  the  white  man's  road  "  ;  he  would  help 
them  to  make  their  village  still  better;  he 
would  punish  the  men  who  took  their  homes, 
who  ran  off  their  stock ;  at  last,  justice  had 
come  to  their  village. 

The  Governor  was  a  man  recently  appointed  ; 
his  object  in  coming  here  was  to  gain  popularity 
with  the  people  of  the  Territory.  He  and  his 
companions  came  to  Sawyer's  house.  The  chief 
was  working  in  the  field ;  one  of  his  children 
ran  to  tell  him.  He  came  up  smiling,  his  child 
upon  his  shoulder ;  then,  gently  putting  the 
child  upon  the  ground,  he  held  out  his  hand  and 
welcomed  the  Governor ;  he  was  filled  with  joy 
at  sight  of  him,  he  was  honored  by  the  visit. 
The  Governor  and  his  aide  entered  the  house  of 
Sawyer,  ate  of  his  bread,  but,  when  they  went 
forth,  a  line  of  soldiers  stood  in  front  of  the 
house.  Sawyer's  eyes  flashed  and  he  darted  a 
hasty  glance  at  the  Governor,  then  drew  himself 
to  his  full  height,  folded  his  arms,  and  waited 
for  Governor  Lanigan  to  speak. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  Governor,  smiling 
blandly,  "perhaps  you  remember  an  affair  that 
took  place  near  here  not  many  years  ago,  —  the 


IO  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

massacre  of  the  missionary.  That  massacre 
brought  on  a  great  war  in  which  many  people 
were  killed.  I  represent  your  Father  at  Wash 
ington,  and  come  here  to  demand  the  surrender 
of  those  concerned  in  this  horrible  deed."  He 
paused,  looked  at  the  armed  men,  then  at  the 
solitary  Indian,  and  smiled. 

"  I  have  heard  what  you  have  to  say,"  replied 
Sawyer.  "  I  knew  the  missionary  and  loved 
him  as  a  brother,  but  my  whole  tribe  are  not  re 
sponsible  for  his  death.  We  warned  him  many 
times  to  leave,  but  he  would  not.  I  could  no 
longer  restrain  my  young  men  who  were  wild 
with  grief.  They  did  not  wish  to  kill  him. 
They  begged  him  many  times  to  leave.  They 
thought  he  had  brought  the  terrible  disease 
upon  us.  They  killed  him  to  save  the  lives  of 
those  yet  left,  but  the  whites  fell  upon  us  and 
killed  many  more  than  the  disease  had  taken. 
During  the  summer,  two  of  our  men  have  been 
wickedly  slain  by  the  whites,  but  we  have  not 
avenged  their  death.  Our  cattle  have  been  sto 
len  ;  the  penalty  is  death,  if  one  Indian  steals 
from  another.  We  have  let  the  white  man  go 
free.  In  the  war,  when  the  pale-faces  rained 
down  upon  us,  many  more  of  our  men  than 
theirs  were  killed.  You  have  many  times 
avenged  the  death  of  the  missionary." 

"Do    not    get    my    temper    aroused,    man! 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  II 

Would  you  be  shot  down  like  dogs  ?  If  not,  sur 
render  the  men  who  were  engaged  in  the  mas 
sacre." 

"That  I  cannot  do.  One  young  man  might 
have  killed  him,  two  young  men,  I  do  not  know, 
—  it  was  night.  The  men  did  not  wish  to  kill 
the  missionary ;  they  begged  him  to  go  home." 

"  Surrender  the  murderers.  Do  you  see  these 
men  ?  They  are  here  to  obey  my  orders.  If  I 
tell  them  to  fire  into  your  village,  they  will  kill 
you  all ;  these  are  but  a  few  —  there  is  another 
detachment  a  mile  from  here.  We  are  not 
responsible  for  any  Indians  that  the  bad  white 
men  around  here  may  kill ;  we  are  not  here 
to  talk  about  bad  white  men — we  have  come 
to  deal  with  you.  It  will  be  death  to  you  all,  if 
you  refuse  to  surrender  these  men." 

"  There  are  good  white  men,  but  they  bear  no 
proportion  to  the  bad,"  said  Sawyer,  slowly, 
hopelessly  ;  "the  bad  must  be  the  strongest,  for 
they  rule."  Then  fiercely,  "You  would  enslave 
those  who  are  not  of  your  own  color,  although 
created  by  the  same  Great  Spirit.  You  would 
make  slaves  of  us ;  you  cannot,  so  you  kill  us. 
You  are  not  like  the  Indians,  who  are  only  ene 
mies  in  war.  You  take  us  by  the  hand  and  say 
'  my  friend/  '  my  brother '  ;  only  now  you  took 
of  our  food,  yet  you  would  destroy  us.  You 
want  to  put  your  foot  upon  our  necks  and  grind 


12  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

our  faces  in  the  dust.  We  have  spared  the  long 
knife.  We  have  suffered  much  in  support  of 
the  whites.  We  love  our  country.  We  have 
endured  much.  Misery  encompasses  our  fami 
lies.  I  am  the  chief,  but  not  the  only  one  in 
my  nation ;  there  are  other  chiefs  who  raise 
their  crests  by  my  side.  I  will  call  a  council 
and  tell  them  you  wish  to  murder  our  men  — 

"Not  murder  your  men,"  interposed  the  Gov 
ernor,  hastily  ;  "  we  will  take  three  of  your  men 
back  with  us  and  give  them  a  fair  trial  in  the 
courts  ;  if  guilty,  they  shall  be  hung ;  if  nothing 
is  proved  against  them,  you  will  see  them  back 
soon.  This  must  be  done  to  satisfy  the  citi 
zens,  otherwise  they  and  the  soldiers  will  come 
down  here  and  wipe  your  village  out  of  exist 
ence." 

"The  good  Father  at  Washington  sent  you  ?" 
queried  Sawyer. 

But  the  irony  fell  short  of  the  fat  Governor, 
and  he  replied,  pompously,  "  I  represent  to  you 
the  Father  at  Washington." 

There  was  great  commotion  in  the  village  as 
the  short,  pompous  Governor  wheeled  with  his 
men  and  left  what,  an  hour  before,  had  been  a 
quiet,  hopeful,  expectant  community ;  now,  he 
had  said  if  the  men  were  not  surrendered  the 
village  would  be  wiped  out  of  existence.  The 
Indians  were  not  afraid  to  fight,  but  it  meant 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  13 

that  men,  women  and  helpless  children  would 
be  slain  or  taken  prisoners  ;  they  would  have  to 
leave  the  homes  they  had  worked  hard  to  make 
like  the  white  man's ;  they  must  leave  the  coun 
try  that  they  loved ;  all  the  work  of  past  years 
would  be  for  naught ;  they  must  wander  in  a 
strange  land.  As  a  people,  they  were  not  in 
debted  to  the  United  States  for  either  food  or 
raiment ;  thus  far  they  had  refused  to  sign  trea 
ties,  thus  far  they  had  taken  care  of  themselves ; 
they  had  been  the  friend  of  the  white  man  — 
now  they  were  to  experience  the  white  man's 
gratitude. 

There  were  sad  hearts  in  the  homes  that  day, 
as  the  men  left  for  the  council ;  the  ploughs  left 
vacant  in  the  field,  the  cattle  lowing  in  the  cor 
ral  long  before  the  accustomed  time,  the  women 
trying  to  busy  themselves  about  household  cares, 
striving  to  work  away  the  heavy  sorrow  gnawing 
at  their  hearts,  the  children  sitting  idle  by  the 
door-steps,  the  school-house  benches  put  aside 
while  stalwart  men  and  some  wise  women  spoke 
in  council. 

That  tall  man,  with  the  furrowed  lines  upon 
the  face,  and  shoulders  slightly  bent  about  the 
narrow  chest,  is  Lapwar ;  near  him  sits  Medina ; 
she  has  been  called  the  war  woman  of  her  tribe, 
and  the  men  are  always  glad  to  listen  to  her 
wise  sayings.  Another  Indian,  whom  we  have 


14  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

seen  before,  is  White  Swan,  the  tall  son  of  Saw 
yer;  yet  another,  Creekie.  Among  them  all, 
there  is  no  handsomer  face ;  he  has  the  straight, 
aquiline  nose,  the  jet-black  eyes,  the  thin  lips, 
the  slender  form  of  a  pure  Indian  ;  about  his 
mouth  is  an  expression  that  once  seen  is  never 
to  be  forgotten,  a  sweetness  induced  by  suffer 
ing  overcome,  a  firmness  denoting  strong  pur 
pose,  a  force  implying  sudden  action. 

When  Sawyer  first  told  them  of  his  interview 
with  the  Governor  they  would  hear  of  nothing 
but  war ;  their  hope  was  to  die  fighting,  rather 
than  be  driven  from  their  village ;  but  when 
Sawyer  pictured  the  desolation  of  their  homes, 
their  farms  laid  waste,  their  children  slain  or 
perhaps  taken  prisoners  and  subjected  to  a 
worse  fate,  their  wild  revenge  subsided,  hope  of 
victory  vanished,  dread  despair  took  its  place. 
The  simple  people  loved  their  country,  loved 
their  homes  ;  they  listened  hopelessly,  quietly, 
to  the  cruel  proposition  made  by  the  Governor. 

In  the  desperate  silence  that  followed,  Sawyer 
spoke  with  the  dignity  of  a  warrior,  with  the  love 
of  a  father  for  helpless  children,  saying  :  "  If  you 
will  go  out  to  war,  you  shall  not  go  without  me. 
I  have  thought  of  peace  measures,  it  is  true,  but 
only  to  save  my  tribe  from  destruction.  A  few 
of  us  may  be  willing  to  die  for  our  nation  —  let 
these  go  with  the  Governor  that  the  rest  may 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOW  A.  1 5 

live,  may  keep  their  homes,  and  live  in  the  land 
of  their  forefathers.  But  if  you  think  me  wrong, 
if  you  insist  on  fighting —  go  !  and  I  will  go  with 
you.  I  will  lead  you  on.  I  will  place  myself  in 
the  front.  I  will  fall  with  the  first  of  you.  The 
struggle  will  be  great.  We  must  be  valiant  and 
resolute.  You  can  do  as  you  choose,  but,  for 
me,  I  shall  not  survive  my  nation.  I  will  not 
live  to  survive  the  destruction  of  so  brave  a  peo 
ple,  who  deserve,  as  you  do,  a  better  fate." 

Then  up  sprang  Creekie.  "  It  is  better  a  few 
of  us  should  die  to  save  the  nation,  to  save  our 
village  from  destruction  and  the  pitiless  hand  of 
the  white  man.  Who  of  you  will  go  to  save  the 
people  ?  Who  of  you  will  die  like  dogs  ?  Have 
no  hearing,  no  justice ;  for  we  have  proven  the 
faith  of  the  white  man.  Who,  for  his  people,  is 
willing  to  be  shut  out  forever  from  the  happy 
hunting-grounds  ?  Who  of  you  will  give  a  life 
for  the  nation  ?  " 

There  was  no  prolonged  silence  as  a  few  men 
slowly  arose,  but  instantly  seven  men  sprang  to 
their  feet ;  then  others  arose,  old  men  with  wives 
and  children,  young  men  with  the  possibility  of 
joyous  years,  each  ready  to  cast  aside,  forever, 
the  beckoning  future,  willing  to  renounce  all 
happiness  in  the  future  world,  knowing  that  the 
Indian  who  is  ignominiously  strangled  is  forever 
debarred  from  the  happy  hunting-grounds. 


l6  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

A  look  of  pain,  and  then  a  look  of  triumph, 
crossed  Medina's  face  as  she  saw  Lapwar  rise, 
but  suddenly  death  seemed  to  have  touched  her 
heart,  and,  with  the  rest,  she  tottered  from  the 
school-room,  for  Sawyer  had  asked  that  the  first 
seven  men  who  arose  might  be  left  alone  with 
him. 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  the  people,  a 
silence  akin  to  death  reigned  within ;  the  horror 
of  the  situation  crept  through  their  very  nerves. 

The  stronger  power  had  said  death  for  a  few 
of  them,  or  death  for  all.  We  are  that  stronger 
power.  The  Indians  who  fight,  we  seek  to  pacify 
with  food  and  raiment,  slight  though  it  be,  but 
Indians  such  as  these  we  are  among,  we  seek  to 
crush ;  as  Sawyer  has  said,  "  We  seek  to  grind 
their  faces  in  the  dust."  The  foot  of  Liberty  is 
pressed  upon  their  neck.  "You  are  our  wards," 
we  cry  ;  "you  shall  not  have  our  laws  !  " 

The  old  fashion  among  these  Indians  had 
been  to  decide  questions  of  moment  while  smok 
ing  the  long-handled  pipe ;  people  about  to  per 
form  some  daring  deed  were  selected  by  fate ; 
the  one  in  whose  hand  the  pipe  went  out 
must  accomplish  the  deed  ;  but  this  custom 
had  passed  away  soon  after  their  adoption  of 
the  white  man's  dress  and  mode  of  living. 

To-day,  Creekie  took  upon  himself  the  privi 
lege  of  passing  the  fatal  slips.  It  was  decided 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  I/ 

chat  three  of  the  men  must  go  with  the  Gov 
ernor,  four  would  remain  in  the  village.  While 
they  were  talking,  Creekie  had  prepared  and 
placed  in  his  hat  seven  slips  of  common  paper, 
—  three  bore  the  death  mark,  four  were  blank. 

What  thoughts  must  have  besieged  his  brain 
in  these  terrible  moments  !  Among  the  seven 
were  the  lover  and  the  father  of  Suzette.  Per 
chance  White  Swan  would  get  a  slip  with  death 
upon  it,  and  Creekie,  remaining  behind,  might 
yet  win  the  love  of  Bending  Willow ;  did  Lap- 
war  take  a  fatal  slip,  who  would  care  more 
tenderly  for  his  desolate  family  than  Creekie  ? 
Even  great  heroes  hear  the  tempter's  voice. 

Creekie  was  coming  slowly  forward ;  he  had 
so  arranged  the  slips  that  he  knew  where  each 
fatal  one  lay.  First,  he  passed  the  hat  to  White 
Swan,  watching  him  breathlessly  as  he  saw  his 
hand  deliberately  seek  the  fatal  slip. 

Suddenly,  Creekie  dropped  the  hat,  the  slips 
were  scattered  about  the  floor  ;  hastily  he  gath 
ered  them  up,  one  he  tucked  in  his  pocket,  one 
he  left  face  downward  at  the  feet  of  White 
Swan,  saying,  as  he  passed,  "It  is  fair.  That 
is  yours." 

White  Swan  stooped,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a 
blank  slip. 

With  trembling  heart,  Creekie  passed  on  to 
Lapwar ;  he  had  so  mixed  the  slips  in  picking 


1 8  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

them  up  that  he  knew  not  one  from  the  other ; 
he  knew  only  that  but  two  death  slips  remained. 
Lapwar  looked  at  his  slip  with  face  unchanged, 
and  Creekie,  not  knowing  whether  Suzette's 
father  had  received  a  fatal  slip  or  not,  went  on 
with  slow  step  and  sad  heart.  The  silence  of 
the  grave  was  not  more  deep  than  that  which 
reigned  among  these  men. 

Sawyer  gave  the  signal,  and  the  freed  men, 
who  a  moment  before  had  stood  upon  the  ragged 
edge  of  their  own  graves,  left  the  room,  almost 
reluctantly.  Then  the  old  chief,  with  bowed 
head  and  bursting  heart,  prayed  for  the  doomed 
men.  He  asked  God  to  guard  their  homes  and 
children ;  he  besought  the  Great  Spirit  to  give 
them  justice,  and  he  prayed,  "  Forgive  us  our 
debts  as  we  forgive  our  debtors." 

A  deep  "Amen"  came  from  the  hearts  of 
Lapwar  and  John  Lone,  but  Creekie's  lips  re 
fused  to  form  the  word ;  his  heart  could  not  yet 
hold  that  amen. 

An  hour  had  passed  and  Creekie  found  him 
self,  he  knew  not  why,  walking  toward  the 
house  of  Lapwar.  Suddenly  Suzette  sprang 
before  him,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping,  her  long 
hair  falling  loose  about  her  shoulders,  her  very 
lips  white. 

"Tell  me  —  tell  me,"  she  said,  "how  many 
— "  Her  sobs  checked  her  voice.  At  sight 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  1 9 

of  her  tears  Creekie  could  scarce  command  his 
voice,  and,  trembling,  he  answered,  "Three." 

"And — and — "  Her  lips  made  motion,  but 
they  could  not  form  the  words. 

Creekie  knew  what  she  would  say ;  tenderly 
he  took  her  hands  between  his  own,  saying, 
with  gentle  voice,  "  White  Swan  is  safe,  Su- 
zette." 

Joy  rose  to  her  eyes.  She  did  not  dream  that 
Creekie's  love  for  her  had  been  the  price  of 
White  Swan's  life. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "the  names,  the  names!" 

Creekie  had  never  wavered  in  the  council, 
had  never  faltered  in  his  strong  purpose ;  but 
now  his  lips  quivered,  and  he  said,  "John  Lone 
is  one  to  go."  He  was  softly  smoothing  back 
her  long  hair:  he  might  touch  that  dark  hair 
now,  he  might  breathe  close  to  those  wide  eyes 
he  loved.  He  was  looking  upon  Bending  Wil 
low  for  the  last  time. 

"Poor,  poor  John  Lone,"  she  moaned,  "his 
child  is  ill,  it  will  kill  her." 

"Better  so,  better  so,"  he  said,  slowly,  think 
ing  that  heaven  was  near  at  hand  for  the  child. 

"But  another?"  she  asked,  fearfully. 

"  Ah,  Suzette !  my  poor  wounded  child,  my 
poor  little  Suzette."  He  held  her  head  back, 
looked  long  into  her  dark  eyes,  then  said  gently, 
"  Courage !  you  have  the  heart  of  a  brave  wo- 


2O  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

man.  If  your  whole  nation  demanded  your 
life,  could  you  not  give  it,  Suzette  ?  Be  brave 
—  be  brave—  But  his  own  eyes  filled  with 
tears  and  his  voice  shook. 

"  You  need  not  tell  me,"  she  said,  looking 
with  dazed  sight  before  her ;  her  hands  loos 
ened  from  his  and  she  turned  slowly  away : 
"  You  need  not  tell  me  —  it  is  my  father." 

"Suzette,  Suzette,"  he  cried;  he  did  not 
know  that  his  arms  were  held  out  to  her,  he  did 
not  know  of  the  anguish  in  his  own  face,  and 
Suzette  only  remembered  the  Creekie  of  her 
childhood, —  the  kind,  sympathizing,  warm  friend 
to  whom  she  had  often  gone  with  her  girlish 
sorrows ;  he  folded  her  in  his  arms  and  she 
sobbed  her  grief  upon  his  breast. 

"You  must  be  brave,  Suzette,"  he  said  ;  "try 
to  think  of  others,  little  one.  Remember,  he 
goes  to  save  his  people ;  he  goes  to  save  those 
he  loves."  His  voice  was  growing  strong  now, 
and  the  girl  was  trying  to  be  brave  and  stifle 
her  sobs.  "  It  is  because  he  loves  you  better 
than  his  life,  my  dear  one."  He  softly  kissed 
her  dark  hair  and  put  her  gently  from  him,  say 
ing  :  "  Courage !  others  are  left ;  think  of  Me 
dina.  Go,  comfort  her.  The  Good  Father  keep 
you  in  his  care.  The  Good  Father  fill  your 
home  with  love  and  peace."  His  hand  was 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  21 

raised  in  blessing,  his  face  was  drawn,  his  lips 
tightly  closed. 

She  could  not  speak,  but  turned  and  slowly 
obeyed  his  bidding,  so  slowly  that  years  seemed 
to  have  passed  over  Creekie's  face  before  she 
was  out  of  sight.  Years  ?  Aye,  centuries,  for 
in  one  moment  the  heart  may  be  cleft  in  twain. 
Resolve  is  the  first  step,  but  the  hard  tearing 
out  of  the  heart-strings  may  be  the  second. 

Bending  Willow  went  back  to  her  desolate 
home ;  she  had  not  asked  the  third  name ;  her 
father's  name  had  been  the  name  of  thirty ;  and 
Creekie  turned,  but  it  was  not  of  his  nation 
that  he  thought  now,  this  man  who  had  deliber 
ately  chosen  death.  He  was  thinking  of  Su- 
zette  as  a  child,  Suzette  as  a  woman,  and  the 
long  years  to  come  when  Suzette  might  be  a 
happy  mother.  Would  it  grieve  her  to  think  he 
was  one  of  the  three  who  went  to  meet — what? 
He  had  met  his  death.  Henceforth  he  must 
be  the  warrior  —  he  straightened  himself,  he 
threw  his  head  back,  but  the  sunlight  blinded 
him,  the  notes  of  the  birds  jarred  upon  his 
ears.  He  clasped  his  hands  and  prayed,  prayed 
only  that  he  might  yet  live;  live  to  see  the  joy 
of  Suzette.  The  birds  sang  joyously,  the  sun 
rose  higher  in  the  heavens.  Black  Hawk  stood 
before  him  ;  he  came  with  a  message  from  Saw 
yer.  The  Governor  and  the  men  were  waiting 


22  THREE    MEN    OF   WALLOWA. 

for  Creekie.  Patrick  Lanigan  wished  to  start 
at  once. 

Creekie  went  silently  to  the  house  of  Sawyer. 
His  erect  form  renewed  the  courage  of  the  other 
men,  his  sweet  smile  recalled  to  them  their 
pride ;  their  one  thought  was  to  die  as  became 
warriors. 

An  hour  since,  John  Lone  had  entered  his 
poor  little  shabby  home  and  been  met  at  the 
door  by  his  young  wife ;  she  had  been  at  home 
all  day  with  a  sick  child  and  neither  heard  nor 
knew  what  was  going  on  —  no  one  had  the 
heart  to  tell  her.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  come, 
John,"  she  said ;  "  the  child  has  been  calling 
for  you.  You  were  gone  long,"  she  ventured, 
gently. 

He  did  not  answer  the  implied  rebuke ;  he 
went  into  the  room  where  the  sick  child  lay. 

The  poor,  wasted  form  would  have  called 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  a  less  tender  heart  than 
that  of  the  Christian,  John  Lone.  He  bent 
gently  and  kissed  her,  and  a  smile  came  over 
the  child's  wan  face  as  she  slowly  opened  her 
eyes  and  rested  them  on  her  father ;  she  was 
too  ill  to  speak.  Her  hand  stole  into  his  and 
she  closed  her  eyes,  satisfied. 

"  Don't  you  think  she  is  better  ? "  asked  the 
wife,  anxiously. 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  23 

But  John  did  not  answer,  his  hungry  eyes 
sought  the  face  of  his  child. 

"You  do  think  she  is  better ?"  said  Liddie, 
crowding  nearer  and  placing  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"The  Good  Lord  will  take  care  of  his  own," 
he  said,  slowly  withdrawing  his  hand  from  that 
of  the  child,  who  had  fallen  into  a  feverish 
sleep.  "Come,  Liddie,"  he  said,  gently  lead 
ing  his  wife  away,  "come,  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you."  But  when  he  had  taken  her 
into  the  next  room  his  heart  failed  him,  he 
could  not  tell  her  all  that  had  happened  in  the 
short  time  since  he  had  left  his  home  this  day ; 
there  are  limits  to  all  endurance  and  bravery. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  you  for  a  little  time, 
Liddie,"  he  said.  "The  Governor  of  the  Terri 
tory  came  to  our  village  this  morning.  He 
wants  to  take  a  few  of  us  away  with  him,  — away 
to  a  large  city.  We  are  going  down  in  the  boat. 
Creekie  and  Lap  war  are  going." 

"You  will  not  leave  me  and  the  child,  not 
when  the  child  is  ill  ? "  she  pleaded,  in  wide- 
eyed  alarm. 

"It  is  hard  to  leave  you  and  the  child  now." 
His  voice  almost  broke,  but  he  controlled  him 
self  with  an  effort. 

"  She  calls  for  you  when  you  are  gone  !    What 


24  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

shall  I  do  ?     You  will  not  go  ?     You  cannot  go 
and  leave  me  and  the  child  —  " 

"  Listen !  If  a  great  war  were  to  come  upon 
our  people,  if  by  going  with  the  Governor  I 
might  help  to  avert  it,  would  you  not  say  go  ?  " 

"No,  no.     There   are  others,  let  them  go." 

"You  will  forgive  me,  Liddie.  I  have  no 
choice.  We  drew  lots  to  see  who  should  go." 

"  But  you  will  return  soon  ? " 

He  turned  his  face  away. 

She  put  a  hand  on  either  of  his  shoulders 
and,  looking  up  in  his  face,  repeated  her  ques 
tion. 

"  It  may  be  many  clays  before  I  return.  It 
may  be  we  part  only  for  a  little  while,  it  may  be 
—  longer.  I  have  not  been  as  good  to  you 
as  I  might,"  he  said,  placing  his  arms  about 
her.  "There  are  many  things  I  might  have 
done.  You  know  my  love  for  you  and  our 
child.  You  will  tell  the  child  I  loved  her."  He 
paused.  "You  will  teach  her  to  pray — tell  her 
to  pray  for  me.  If  I  should  never  — "  But 
he  thrust  his  wife  aside  and  hurried  from  the 
house.  Without  one  farewell  to  his  child,  with 
out  one  backward  glance  at  his  wife,  he  hastened 
to  the  house  of  Sawyer ;  there,  he  begged  some 
of  the  women  to  break  the  sad  news  to  her. 
"For,"  he  said,  mournfully,  "the  heart  of  a 
coward  is  here,"  placing  his  hand  upon  his 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOW  A.  25 

breast.  "  The  heart  of  a  warrior  is  crushed.  I 
cannot  tell  her."  His  grief  was  pitiful.  But 
he  cautioned,  "  You  will  let  her  hope.  Let  her 
hope  I  will  return,  for  a  little  time.  It  will 
smooth  the  edge  of  her  despair.  Let  her  hope 
for  a  little,  till  the  child  is  better.  Then  tell 
her  all.  She  will  live  for  the  child." 

Medina  had  been  truly  called  the  war  woman 
of  her  tribe.  Although  at  first  overcome  by  the 
thought  that  Lapwar  was  to  go,  she  soon  roused 
herself  and  with  a  warrior's  pride  burst  forth  :  — 

"  Show  the  white  men  of  what  stuff  the  In 
dian  is  made.  They  may  kill  your  body,  but 
they  cannot  crush  your  spirit.  They  will  see 
how  warriors  can  die.  Your  names  will  be 
handed  down  to  your  children.  You  are  the 
heroes  of  your  nation.  Oh  !  that  I  were  a  man, 
to  go  with  you."  And  she  cried  to  the  men,  as 
with  noble  mien  and  heads  unbenc  they  passed 
out  of  the  village :  "  They  are  cowards  who 
would  make  you  die ;  show  them  what  bravery 
is.  Die  like  Indians,  like  warriors." 

Aye,  but  the  desolate  village  when  the  sun 
withdrew  his  rays  that  night ;  the  desolation, 
the  heart-break,  the  bitter  wailing,  the  despair ! 

The  Governor  pushed  on  through  the  night 
in  his  boats  till  darkness  fell  like  a  hideous  pall. 
The  Indians  were  put  on  shore  while  the  white 
men  slept  in  the  boats.  One  guard  was  placed 


26  THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA. 

over  these  Indians.  Think  you  they  could  not 
escape  ?  Nothing  easier  than  to  knock  the 
guard  senseless  and  fly  through  the  woods  ;  but 
they  had  given  their  word. 

Do  not  blame  the  men  who  had  accompanied 
the  Governor ;  they  were  soldiers,  they  merely 
obeyed  their  superiors,  they  were  under  oath, 
they  did  as  they  were  bid. 

A  sickening,  howling  crowd  met  these  Indians 
as  they  landed  at  Devil  City,  and  through  this 
miserable,  jeering,  taunting  crowd  they  passed 
with  heads  erect  to  the  jail. 

They  were  tried  in  a  language  they  did  not 
understand,  they  were  found  guilty  by  a  court 
which  allowed  them  no  chance  for  defence. 

The  Indians  listened  with  immovable  faces 
when  their  sentence  was  pronounced. 

There  was  no  murmur  of  despair,  no  sigh  of 
regret,  as  with  the  majesty  of  heroes  they 
walked  slowly  to  the  gallows. 

They  were  hung,  amid  the  jeers  and  hurrahs 
of  civilized  American  children,  women  and  men 
in  this  enlightened  nineteenth  century.  Did 
Liberty  veil  her  eyes  ? 

Look  back  at  the  village  of  despairing  people  ! 
Look  to  this  crowd  of  our  boasted  civilization  ! 
Look  to  these  three  men  of  Wallowa,  mangled 
at  the  foot  of  the  gallows  and  tell  me,  shall  we 
give  the  Indian  our  law  ?  Which  are  the  say- 


THREE    MEN    OF    WALLOWA.  2J 

ages,  they  who  vent  their  law  upon  these  men 
.of  Wallowa,  or  they  who  died  without  the  pro 
tection  of  the  law  ?  Let  Creekie,  John  Lone, 
and  Lapwar  speak  to  you  from  their  graves. 


SAMUEL,  AN  ARAPAHOE. 


I  HAVE  heard  that  there  are  a  good  many 
white  people  who  know  nothing  of  the 
wrongs  which  have  been  clone  to  our  people 
and  would  like  to  hear  .a  little  of  them  ;  I  be 
lieve  the  Great  Spirit  is  going  to  pity  the 
Indian. 

I  have  been  asked  to  tell  my  story  in  my 
own  way.  It  is  a  poor  way,  but  for  the  sake 
of  White  Doe  I  will  tell  it. 

My  people  call  me  Branching  Pine,  because  I 
am  tall  and  straight,  with  heavy,  short  hair  that 
flies  out  in  stiff  tufts  and  nods  in  the  blowing 
breeze  like  the  top  branches  of  the  swaying 
pine;  but  in  the  prison-book  I  am  Samuel,  an 
Arapahoe. 

White  Doe  is  slender  and  timid.  No  one 
knows  why  she  gave  herself  to  a  big  fellow  like 
me.  White  Doe  is  brave  ;  she  will  bite  her  lips 
and  keep  back  the  tears  though  her  heart  breaks. 
She  has  little,  brown  hands  that  lose  themselves 
in  my  black,  bushy  hair.  Her  large,  soft  eyes 
would  make  a  man  good  and  brave,  just  for  the 


2  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

look  of  love  and  trust  in  them.  I  did  well  until 
she  was  dying,  —  dying.  Then  my  heart  leapt 
to  my  throat,  my  blood  rushed  through  my  body, 
till  my  soul  was  on  fire.  I  would  have  killed 
any  one  that  stood  in  the  way  of  White  Doe's 
life. 

But  I  am  all  a-tremble.  I  cannot  tell  my 
story  unless  I  begin  at  the  beginning. 

It  warms  my  heart  to  think  of  my  home 
again,  with  the  clean,  dirt  floor  and  the  window 
high  in  the  wall  for  the  sun  to  shine  through, 
and  the  neat  roof  of  close-packed  earth  with  the 
grass  growing  up  on  the  edge.  In  the  field, 
White  Doe  and  I  work  side  by  side  until  she 
leaves  me  to  go  in  and  get  the  evening  meal  ; 
I  hear  her  voice  through  the  open  door  as  she 
sings  the  songs  they  taught  at  the  school ;  then 
the  red  sun  sets,  and  that  is  the  last  happy  day 
that  we  know. 

To  go  back  and  tell  you  of  the  misery  of  my 
people  would  make  your  heart  ache,  if  you  are 
a  true  man  or  a  true  woman. 

Many  promises  were  made  us  -by  too  many 
people  ;  we  believed  them,  but  the  Indian  has 
learned  to  know  the  white  man  better.  We 
lived  in  a  broad  country  with  much  game,  but 
the  white  man  set  his  foot  upon  our  country  and 
the  game  fled.  Because  we  let  the  white  man 
go  through  our  country  and  own  land,  the  Great 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  3 

Father  called  a  council,  and  for  the  right  of  way 
through  our  country,  and  because  the  white  man 
scattered  our  game,  he  promised  us  each  a  dol 
lar  a  year  for  fifty  years,  and  we  promised  to  be 
at  peace.  But  the  Great  Father  at  Washington 
thought  again,  and  took  back  his  promise.  He 
gave  us  each  a  dollar  for  fifteen  years,  and  the 
Indian  kept  his  peace  with  the  white  man, 
though  he  came  and  took  rich  mines  on  our  land 
that  we  were  not  taught  to  work.  The  great 
travel  sent  the  buffalo  away.  We  had  nothing 
with  which  to  kill  the  small  game.  They  would 
not  let  us  go  to  hunt  the  buffalo  away  off  where 
the  white  man  did  not  tread,  and  we  were  starv 
ing.  The  Great  Father  promised  to  teach  us  to 
be  farmers,  but  I  think  he  must  have  forgotten. 

The  women  were  pinched  with  want  and  the 
children  crying  with  hunger.  We  begged  for  a 
farmer  or  a  blacksmith,  but  it  was  years  before 
the  Father  at  Washington  remembered  us. 
Other  Indians  stole  horses  and'1  cattle,  they  stole 
food,  and  killed  the  white  man,  and  the  Great 
Father  thought  them  brave.  We  were  starving 
while  we  kept  our  faith  with  the  white  men. 

What  I  say  here  is  true.  You  may  kill  me, 
but  do  not  say  what  I  tell  here  is  a  lie  ;  and  this 
is  how  it  happened.  A  number  of  young  men 
were  weary  of  starving,  just  to  be  at  peace  with 
the  white  man  who  had  forgotten  his  promise. 


4  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

so  they  went  to  make  war  on  a  hostile  tribe  that 
was  always  our  enemy.  They  did  not  go  to 
make  war  on  the  white  man. 

When  they  were  in  camp  the  mail  wagon 
passed  and  two  young  men  went  out  to  beg  to 
bacco,  but  the  mail  carrier  fired  on  them  so  the 
Indians  fired  back,  and  that  is  the  way  it  was. 
The  carrier  fired  on  the  young  men  who  had 
gone  out  in  a  friendly  spirit.  The  chief  ran  out 
and  stopped  the  firing.  He  brought  the  two 
men  into  camp  and  flogged  them.  He  said  the 
white  man  would  say  they  had  broken  the  peace, 
even  although  they  were  not  the  first  to  fire. 

The  mail  man  went  to  the  fort  and  told  a 
strange  thing,  for  the  soldiers  came  down  and 
fired  on  us  and  killed  many.  The  chief  could 
no  longer  control  the  war  spirit  of  Indians 
who  saw  their  friends  killed  by  soldiers,  after 
they  had  thrown  down  their  bows  and  arrows 
and  said  there  should  be  peace,  so  a  war  followed. 

After  this  ouf  chiefs  went  into  a  great  council 
and  said  they  would  kill  any  young  man  who 
tried  to  go  on  the  war-path.  Some  of  the  young 
men  were  killed. 

A  white  chief  came  and  demanded  our  men 
who  had  taken  part  in  the  war.  Peace  had  come 
and  we  would  not  give  them  up ;  then  the  white 
chief  burned  our  village  and  destroyed  our  food. 
Suffering  and  sorrow  visited  us  through  the  long 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  5 

winter.  The  white  chief  did  not  remember  that 
we  had  kept  our  faith  when  the  whites  had  for 
gotten  theirs.  He  only  remembered  that  now 
he  was  the  stronger  power.  The  Great  Spirit 
had  forgotten  us.  We  went  to  hunt  buffalo, 
but  could  hardly  find  any.  We  had  to  kill  a 
good  many  of  our  ponies  to  eat,  to  save  our 
selves  from  starving.  The  children  got  sick  and 
died.  A  great  many  of  our  finest  young  men 
died,  as  well  as  many  women.  Then  the  gov 
ernor  chief  sent  out  to  call  all  friendly  Indians 
into  the  fort,  because  there  was  to  be  a  great 
war,  and  he  told  us  we  would  be  safe.  He  said 
he  would  protect  us  because  we  had  kept  our 
promises.  They  gave  us  food.  Then  they 
moved  us  some  miles  from  the  fort  so  that  we 
would  be  better  protected. 

My  mother  could  have  told  what  happened. 
When  daylight  came,  the  troops  fell  upon  us 
and  murdered  our  men,  women,  and  children. 
My  mother  fled  with  me  over  the  prairie.  When 
my  father  ran  to  the  troops  and  begged  them 
not  to  fire,  they  shot  him  dead.  The  head  chief 
carried  a  white  flag,  and  when  he  saw  what  had 
come  upon  us,  that  there  was  no  mistake,  it  was 
a  planned  attack,  he  folded  his  arms  and  waited 
till  he  was  shot  down.  Young  men  and  old 
women,  old  men  and  little  children,  were  mur 
dered  ;  their  fingers  were  cut  off,  their  legs  and 


6  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

arms  broken,  their  ears  cut  off.  It  makes  my 
heart  sick  to  remember  my  mother's  words  and 
to  hear  what  she  saw  before  she  carried  me,  a 
little  child,  in  her  arms  and  fled. 

This  was  the  faith  of  the  white  man. 

The  Indian  was  a  fool-man  who  kept  peace 
with  them.  They  held  out  their  hand  in  peace, 
and  when  we  took  it,  they  stabbed  us  in  the 
back. 

After  this  it  was  hard  to  believe  white  men 
any  more.  We  were  afraid  we  would  be  be 
trayed  again.  Now  we  are  afraid  no  longer. 
We  come  and  take  the  white  man  by  the  hand 
once  more,  —  it  is  better  to  be  at  peace. 

They  gave  my  mother  160  acres  of  land,  and 
to  me,  because  they  murdered  my  father,  they 
gave  the  same.  Did  they  think  it  would  bring 
my  father  back  from  the  spirit  world  ?  Did  they 
think  the  land  could  take  the  place  of  a  father 
and  husband  ?  We  had  plenty  of  land  before 
the  v/hite  men  came.  They  took  our  land, 
murdered  my  father,  and  then  gave  us  back  a 
little  piece  of  land  to  make  us  happy.  Did  they 
think  because  we  had  the  land  that  we  were  sat 
isfied  that  he  was  murdered  ?  Did  they  think 
it  would  dry  my  mother's  tears,  or  ease  the  pain 
at  her  heart  ?  Some  people  think  because  we 
are  of  a  different  complexion,  we  are  not  men 
and  women. 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  / 

We  were  no  longer  allowed  to  hunt  and  we 
had  no  implements  to  work  the  ground.  We  used 
axes,  sticks  of  wood,  and  worked  with  our  hands 
in  the  earth  to  prepare  our  ground  for  planting. 
We  had  a  few  cattle ;  but  the  white  man  ran 
them  off  and  we  were  not  allowed  to  go  after 
them. 

When  my  mother  died,  White  Doe  and  I 
came  to  live  in  the  house  I  had  built.  We  had 
suffered  many  years  from  giving  up  our  own 
way  of  living  and  trying  to  live  as  the  white 
man,  with  nothing  to  do  it  with,  and  no  one  to 
show  us  how.  The  white  man  did  not  learn  in 
a  day,  neither  can  the  Indian. 

We  did  not  know  how  to  work  the  field  at 
first,  and  the  man  who  came  to  show  us  did 
not  know  either.  To-day  he  would  tell  us  one 
way,  and  to-morrow  he  would  tell  us  another, 
and  we  were  worse  off  than  before.  He  was 
old  and  feeble  and  the  work  was  not  good  for 
him.  Soon  the  Great  Father  at  Washington 
sent  him  off.  The  Great  Father  does  not 
allow  his  children  to  remain  in  one  place  long. 
Just  when  we  understand,  he  sends  them  away. 

The  Great  Father  wants  us  to  stay  in  one 
place  forever,  but  he  changes  his  own  children 
all  the  day.  Where  did  the  Great  Father  get 
his  authority  to  say  to  us,  "  Stay  in  one  place ; " 
and  to  the  white  man,  "  Go  where  you  please, 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

only  stay  on  a  reservation  until  you  begin  to  do 
your  work,  then  go  on"?  I  have  asked  many 
men,  but  they  cannot  tell  me. 

The  next  man  who  came  to  show  us  could 
not  understand  our  language.  We  had  not  been 
taught  the  English  language  in  the  school,  so 
we  could  not  understand  him.  There  was  no 
interpreter  and  it  took  a  long  time  for  us  to 
learn,  and  a  great  patience  before  he  could 
teach  us. 

After  a  few  years  we  succeeded  in  farming, 
but  there  was  no  one  to  buy  our  produce,  so  we 
could  get  no  money.  We  had  food  enough  to 
eat,  but  no  money  to  buy  any  clothes. 

There  were  few  farm  implements.  We  had 
to  wait  our  turn  to  use  them,  for  we  had  no 
money  to  buy  others.  We  lost  part  of  our  crop 
because  we  could  not  get  it  in  in  time. 

White  Doe  and  I  had  a  neat  little  plat.  We 
had  enough  to  eat  and  enough  to  carry  food  to 
our  sick  neighbor,  and  we  thought  the  white 
man's  way  a  good  way. 

But  the  last  year  we  worked  our  field  and 
nothing  would  come.  The  sun  shone  hot  and 
died  in  a  red  ball  at  night,  no  rain  came  to 
quench  the  earth,  everything  withered  and  died. 
It  was  hard  to  keep  a  brave  heart. 

There   was    much    sickness    in    our    village. 

Many  people  died  because  there  was  no  medi- 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  9 

cine  for  them.  We  were  always  hungry.  We 
never  had  enough.  When  they  that  were  sick 
felt  they  could  eat  something,  we  had  nothing 
to  give  them. 

A  white  chief  came  from  Washington.  He 
said  our  land  had  not  been  marked  out  right  and 
it  did  not  belong  to  us.  Our  homes  were  to  be 
taken  from  us.  Why  did  not  the  white  man 
mark  it  right  at  first  ?  Why  did  he  wait  until  we 
had  built  a  home  and  worked  the  land  ?  Was  it 
not  enough  that  we  were  starving?  Was  it  not 
enough  that  we  were  dying?  Surely  the  Great 
Spirit  had  hidden  his  face  from  us.  We  had  no 
longer  heart  to  go  into  the  field  and  work. 
Many  of  our  relatives  and  friends  died.  We 
felt  that  we  would  like  to  be  asleep  with  the 
rest.  But  I,  for  the  sake  of  White  Doe,  worked 
in  the  field.  I  did  not  want  her  to  realize  that, 
after  all  her  work  and  plans,  she  had  no  home 
on  the  face  of  the  earth ;  and  she,  for  my  sake, 
came  and  worked  by  my  side  to  make  me  forget 
our  wrong,  to  make  me  forget  our  sorrow.  She 
would  laugh  and  sing  as  though  she  were 
happy,  but  often  I  would  see  tears  upon  her 
cheeks  as  she  laughed.  My  heart  ached  that  I 
was  powerless  to  help  her.  Why  could  we  not 
be  treated  as  other  men?  Why  could  we  not 
have  a  home  ?  Why  could  they  not  give  us  an 
even  chance  to  live  as  other  men?  We  would 


10  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

be  content  if  we  had  an  even  chance  with  the 
white  man.  It  makes  my  heart  sick  to  remem 
ber  all  the  promises  of  the  white  man;  to  re 
member  our  own  country  where  we  had  plenty 
to  eat,  where  we  had  a  home,  and  now  to  see  my 
people  cooped  up  like  chickens,  their  food  taken 
from  them,  their  houses  delivered  to  others,  no 
even  chance  in  the  law.  If  this  is  the  kind  of 
guardian  that  brings  this  upon  us,  we  want  no 
guardian.  We  want  to  be  free  men  to  have  an 
even  chance  in  the  law.  We  know  we  must 
change.  We  are  willing  to  adopt  the  white 
man's  way,  but  the  Great  Father  is  always 
changing.  He  puts  us  here ;  he  puts  us  there. 
This  man  is  put  over  us  and  when  we  know  this 
man's  way  the  Great  Father  takes  him  off  and 
puts  another  man  over  us  and  we  learn  a  different 
way.  How  would  a  child  do,  if  it  had  thirty 
mothers  a  month,  each  day  a  different  mother  ? 
Would  the  child  grow  and  prosper?  No  more 
can  the  Indian.  I  wish  the  Great  Father  at 
Washington  would  remember  and  think  of  this. 

The  Great  Father  must  think  we  are  made 
different  from  other  men. 

The  night  when  the  sun  went  down  so  red, 
the  night  I  remember  so  well,  we  had  been 
making  believe  that  this  was  our  own  home 
once  more,  that  this  land  we  had  worked  was 
ours ;  that  we  had  enough  to  eat  and  to  give  our 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  II 

neighbor.  White  Doe  had  laughed  as  she  ran 
into  the  house  and  we  had  much  merriment  over 
our  last  bit  of  meal  and  salt.  Her  merriment 
lightened  my  heart.  There  were  bright  spots 
in  her  cheeks  and  a  brightness  in  her  eyes  that 
did  my  heart  good,  for  she  had  looked  pale  of 
late. 

When  I  slept  that  night  I  dreamed  that  we 
were  travelling  the  white  man's  road  content. 

But  in  the  morning  she  muttered  strange 
things.  I  thought  she  was  asleep,  but  her  eyes 
were  open  wide.  The  red  spots  burned  in  her 
cheeks.  I  trembled  under  the  weight  of  this 
mighty  sorrow.  White  Doe  was  ill  of  the  fever. 
Her  lips  were  parched  with  thirst,  her  hands 
were  hot  and  dry.  She  begged  for  food.  I  hid 
my  face  in  my  hands,  for  I  had  none  to  give 
her.  A  fierce  pain  clutched  at  my  heart  when 
I  heard  this  cry  of  hunger  that  I  could  not  help. 
My  nails  sank  into,  the  palms  of  my  hands  until 
the  flesh  bled.  All  about  us  the  white  man  had 
plenty,  but  my  dear  one  lay  ill  of  a  fever  and  I 
had  nothing  to  give  her.  I  bathed  her  brow 
and  hands  in  cold  water.  I  smoothed  back  her 
hair  and  spoke  in  a  soft  voice.  Soon  her  moan 
ing  ceased,  her  eyes  closed  in  sleep. 

Then  I  went  for  old  Matilda.  She  came  and 
watched  by  the  side  of  White  Doe  and  I  went 
forth  with  sad  heart. 


12  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

Blackfoot  was  the  pony  that  my  dear  one 
loved.  It  had  some  of  the  gentle  ways  of 
White  Doe  and  raised  its  glad  eyes  in  mute 
welcome  as  I  came  and  led  it  out  into  the  yard. 
We  had  always  divided  our  food  with  Blackfoot, 
but  to-day  there  was  nothing  for  her.  The  dry 
stalks  of  grass  had  long  since  ceased  to  give  her 
any  nourishment.  When  she  stuck  her  moist 
nose  in  my  empty  hand  I  could  only  pat  her 
head  and  tell  her  she  must  carry  me  swift.  She 
whinnied  and  crooked  her  neck  to  look  for 
White  Doe.  I  think  the  dumb  beast  knew 
there  was  something  wrong,  for  my  dear  one 
had  always  come  out  to  her  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning.  I  sprang  upon  her  sleek  back 
and  pressed  my  feet  against  her  side  and  away 
she  sped  with  me  over  the  prairie.  In  our  home 
lay  my  dear  one  starving  and  parched  with  fever. 
I  would  have  killed  myself  that  she  might  live, 
yet  I  could  not  help  her.  I  groaned  aloud  when 
I  thought  of  our  misery. 

Before  the  sun  sank  in  the  west  I  was  near 
my  home  again.  Blackfoot  had  carried  me  swift 
and  sure  to  the  door  of  the  white  medicine  man. 
He  gave  me  fair  words,  but  that  would  not  bring 
White  Doe  back  to  health.  He  could  not  come 
to  see  her,  he  had  no  wagon,  no  horse.  I  told 
him  to  mount  Blackfoot,  but  he  said  the  In 
dian's  pony  was  full  of  tricks.  I  told  him 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  13 

to  get  on  Blackfoot,  and  I  would  lead  her 
all  the  way.  He  said  it  would  take  too  much 
time.  He  had  to  tend  his  sick  at  home.  I  said 
I  would  work  for  him  night  and  day  for  noth 
ing,  after  White  Doe  was  well,  if  he  would  only 
come.  I  said  I  would  give  him  Blackfoot,  he 
could  sell  her  and  take  the  money,  if  he  would 
but  come.  He  said  if  he  had  a  horse  and  team 
of  his  own  he  would  come.  The  Great  Father 
furnished  him  none.  He  could  not  come.  He 
said  to  give  her  nourishing  drinks.  He  might 
have  told  me  to  shoot  the  stars,  or  make  the 
moon  square. 

Why  does  the  Great  Father  at  Washington 
send  us  a  physician  and  give  him  no  way  of 
coming  to  us  when  we  are  sick  ?  I  think  the 
Great  Father  forgets  many  things. 

His  words  were  fair,  but  White  Doe  lay.  ill 
and  he  would  not  come  to  help  us.  There  was 
no  food  and  he  said  she  must  have  nourishing 
drinks.  No  one  would  help  us.  White  Doe 
must  have  something  to  nourish  her  and  there 
was  nothing. 

Out  on  the  prairie  there,  no  one  would 
notice  the  report  of  a  rifle.  There  was  a 
stake  near,  made  ugly  and  black  by  the  prai 
rie  fire.  Blackfoot  looked  at  me  with  wide 
eyes  when  I  tied  her  bridle  to  it.  She  had 
never  been  tied  up  before.  She  had  never 


14  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

strayed  beyond  her  lariat  rope.  She  was  breath 
ing  hard  and  the  steam  rose  from  her  strained 
flanks. 

Then  I  went  up  and  spoke  gently  to  her. 
We  had  brought  her  up  from  a  colt.  White 
Doe  and  I  loved  her  next  to  each  other.  When 
I  went  off  a  few  paces,  she  tugged  at  her  rope 
to  be  free  and  whinnied  to  me.  I  went  back 
and  spoke  gently  to  her.  I  twined  my  fingers 
in  her  mane  and  leant  my  cheek  against  her 
face.  I  patted  her  shiny  neck.  Then  again  I 
stood  a  few  paces  off ;  her  mild  eyes  looked  at 
me  in  wonder  as  I  raised  my  rifle  to  my  shoul 
der.  Never  shall  I  forget  her  look  of  human 
reproach.  I  shut  my  eyes  and  pulled  the  trig 
ger  —  the  bullet  went  crunching  —  crunching  — 

She  made  one  mad  leap,  then  fell  to  the 
ground.  She  moaned  like  a  human  child  and 
moved  her  head  near  me  where  I  had  dropped 
on  my  knees  before  her.  My  hot  tears  fell 
upon  her  face.  I  had  killed  my  dearest  friend, 
next  to  White  Doe.  With  broken  voice  I  tried 
to  tell  the  dumb  creature  why  I  had  done  this. 
I  could  not  bear  the  look  in  her  mild  eyes. 

I  would  have  died  that  White  Doe  might  live, 
yet  I  must  live  to  take  care  of  my  dear  one. 
Blackfoot  could  die  and  nourish  my  poor,  sick 
one.  It  would  have  been  easier  to  run  a  knife 
into  my  breast  than  to  stand  and  kill  our  faith- 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  15 

ful  Blackfoot,  White  Doe's  friend  and  playmate; 
now  she  lay  stiff  and  motionless  before  me. 
Never  more  would  she  bear  my  dear  one  over 
the  rolling  prairie  ;  never  more  would  her  moist 
nose  seek  my  hand  for  a  caress ;  never  more 
would  she  prick  her  ears  and  whinny  at  our 
approach  ;  never  more  would  she  hear  the  voice 
of  White  Doe.  Forever  more  should  I  see  the 
look  in  her  hazel  eyes  as  I  raised  my  gun  to  kill 
her. 

I  dragged  myself  home  and  told  old  Matilda 
what  I  had  done.  Some  one  else  must  do  the 
rest.  I  could  do  no  more ;  so  Matilda  went  and 
told  Beverlie.  He  was  the  friend  of  White  Doe 
and  me.  He  did  the  rest. 

Then  I  sat  by  the  side  of  White  Doe.  She 
was  asleep  and  breathing  heavily.  When  Ma 
tilda  asked  me  where  was  the  medicine  man, 
and  where  was  the  medicine,  I  could  not  answer 
her.  I  turned  my  face  away. 

Near  me  was  some  meal  and  water ;  some  one 
had  brought  it  for  White  Doe  to  drink.  I  had 
had  no  food  that  day,  but  while  I  sat  there  a 
kind  neighbor  brought  me  a  potato,  which  I 
eagerly  ate.  I  must  keep  up  my  strength  for 
the  sake  of  White  Doe. 

In  the  morning,  White  Doe  knew  me.  I 
gave  her  some  hot  soup  to  drink.  Her  eyes 
brightened  at  sight  of  it,  and  while  she  sipped 


1 6  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

it  she  said,  "  Where  did  this  come  from  ?  "  And 
I  answered,  "Beverlie  brought  it,"  for  had  he 
not  finished  my  work  ? 

Then  she  said,  "  Poor  Blackfoot !  is  there 
nothing  for  her?  What  have  you  given  her ?" 

I  steadied  my  voice  and  answered,  "  Blackfoot 
has  plenty,"  for  I  knew  she  was  now  beyond 
suffering  and  want.  But  old  Matilda  came, 
and  stood  in  the  open  door,  and  she  said,  "  Be 
not  foolish  ;  Blackfoot  is  killed  to  nourish  you, 
and  that  is  —  But  White  Doe  screamed. 

The  bowl  dropped  from  her  fingers  and  she  fell 
back  as  one  dead. 

Then  I  cried,  "  You  are  the  fool !  "  to  Matilda, 
and  rushed  to  the  side  of  White  Doe.  She  lay 
still  and  pale  a  long  time.  When  she  opened 
her  eyes,  she  was  raving  —  raving.  She  would 
scream  out,  "  Blackfoot,  Blackfoot,  I  have  killed 
you,"  and  then  sink  shivering  under  the  bed 
clothes.  "Come,  Blackfoot,  dear  Blackfoot," 
and  she  would  stroke  her  hand  as  though  she 
touched  Blackfoot's  shiny  neck  ;  then  she  would 
start  back,  her  eyes  full  of  terror,  screaming, 
"Take  your  eyes  away  !  Yes  ;  it  was  I,  I  that 
killed  you,"  and  I  would  sit  there  trying  to 
soothe  her  till  my  heart  was  nearly  dead  within 
me.  The  fever  had  seized  her  stronger  than 
before  and  now  there  was  no  nourishment  for 
her. 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  I/ 

Matilda  wept  and  was  sorry,  but  she  could  not 
undo  her  foolishness. 

The  work  that  Beverlie  had  done,  I  gave  to 
him  and  his  family,  for  now  White  Doe  knew ; 
and  I  would  never  touch  it  anyway. 

You,  who  have  food  and  plenty,  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  be  hungry.  You  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  see  your  sick  cry  out  for  food  you 
cannot  give.  You  do  not  know  the  pain  of  it. 
I  would  have  been  a  fool-man  to  sit  with  my 
head  in  my  hands  while  my  dear  one  lay  sick 
for  want  of  food.  For  what  I  had  given  Bever 
lie,  he  sent  me  some  meal,  but  a  handful  of  meal 
in  water  would  not  nourish  White  Doe. 

My  people  were  all  starving.  Others  had 
suffered  as  we  were  suffering  now,  but  it  is 
different  when  the  misery  creeps  under  your 
own  roof.  It  is  different  when  the  dearest  one 
on  earth  lies  ill ;  it  is  different  when  she  raises 
her  eyes  to  yours  in  want,  and  the  thing  that 
she  needs  lies  all  about  you,  yet  she  must  die 
for  lack  of  it.  If  you  were  a  weakling  like  the 
sick  one  —  very  well  —  but  when  you  are  a 
strong  man  you  cannot  sit  still.  The  Great 
Spirit  knows  whether  I  did  right  or  not.  It 
would  have  been  easier  to  kill  White  Doe  than 
to  see  her  slowly  die  while  I  stood  helpless.  I 
strode  from  the  house.  My  mind  was  fixed. 
I  could  bear  it  no  longer. 


1 8  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAKOE. 

My  friend  Beverlie  went  with  me.  Over  the 
prairie  and  away  to  the  mountains  we  went. 
We  had  offered  to  work  for  the  white  man  if  he 
would  give  us  meat,  but  he  would  not.  We  had 
nothing  to  give  but  the  work  of  our  hands. 
This  was  our  country.  If  the  white  man  had 
treated  us  fair  we  would  not  have  been  starving. 
If  we  had  been  allowed  to  go  in  pursuit  of  our 
cattle  that  the  white  man  ran  off  from  our  herd, 
we  would  have  had  some  cattle  now. 

What  we  did,  we  did  in  the  broad  light  of 
day.  We  did  not,  like  the  white  man,  wait  for 
the  covering  of  night.  We  were  desperate, 
starving  men,  and  my  loved  one  was.  dying  for 
what  the  white  man  might  have  given  in  mercy. 
Blackfoot  would  have  carried  me  swift.  I  killed 
her  that  I  might  not  take  from  the  white  man  as 
he  had  taken  from  us. 

It  is  true  that  Beverlie  and  I  killed  the  ox. 
We  carried  as  much  of  it  away  as  we  could.  I 
believe  the  Great  Spirit  is  looking  down  on  all 
of  us,  and  for  that  reason  I  am  telling  the  truth. 

White  Doe  had  nourishment  that  night,  and 
I  did  not  shrink  from  telling  her  what  we  had 
done.  Is  there  a  man  or  woman  of  you  who 
would  not  have  done  the  same  ?  We  were  no 
cowards. 

The  next  day  came  men  to  carry  Beverlie  and 
me  to  prison. 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  1 9 

There  lay  the  sick  dear  one.  But  the  Chris 
tian  white  men  did  not  care  for  that.  She 
moaned  and  cried  when  they  dragged  me  away. 
But  the  Christian  white  men  did  not  care  for 
that. 

News  was  brought  to  White  Doe  that  every 
one  at  the  agency  sympathized  with  us.  The 
poor  dear  one  thought  they  would  free  us,  and 
give  us  food.  But,  when  she  found  we  were  to 
go  to  the  prison,  she  cried  out  and  said  she 
would  no  longer  have  the  religion  of  the  white 
man,  and  I  cannot  but  think  she  was  right. 

The  white  man  has  had  many  years  of  your 
religion,  yet  he  lies  to  us,  he  cheats  us,  he  kills 
us.  You  tell  me  that  your  religion  is  to  do  to 
your  brother  as  you  would  he  did  to  you,  yet  the 
white  man  says,  "  Kill  all  the  Indians."  Are 
we  not  brothers  with  one  Father  above  us  ? 

They  locked  us  in  prison.  My  heart  did  not 
break,  for  I  thought  I  should  be  near  my  dear 
one.  I  could  hear  how  she  was.  I  could  send 
her  word.  Some  one  would  sometimes  come 
and  tell  me  how  she  was  and  what  she  said,  but 
they  sent  us  off  from  the  Territory.  They  sent 
us  over  a  waste  of  country  to  a  strange  land  and 
put  us  behind  iron  bars. 

I  did  not  feel  the  shackles  that  I  wore.  I  did 
not  feel  the  heavy  irons  sinking  about  my  legs. 
The  iron  was  in  my  heart.  White  Doe  lay 


2O  SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE. 

dying.  They  bound  Beverlie  and  me  together 
with  heavy  chains,  and  burdened  our  feet  with 
irons. 

White  Doe  sleeps,  never  to  awake. 

White  man,  do  not  hold  out  your  hand  to  me 
and  speak  of  friendship.  The  body  of  White 
Doe  lies  between  us.  Do  you  think  your  hand 
could  reach  me  over  that  ? 

My  heart  is  heavy.  I  hope  that  I,  too,  shall 
soon  sleep  in  peace. 

You  took  my  food  from  me,  and  when  I  had 
learned  to  toil,  you  stole  the  home  I  had  built 
with  my  hands  and  the  ground  I  had  worked 
hard  to  make  like  the  white  man's  garden. 
You  put  me  in  iron  chains  and  brought  me  to 
prison.  I  do  not  say  I  am  innocent.  I  did  take 
an  ox  that  Beverlie  and  I  found  in  the  moun 
tain  ;  and  the  man  who  stole  my  cattle  and 
branded  them  with  his  mark  claimed  the  ox  as 
his  ;  but  had  your  law  been  right,  that  man 
should  have  been  in  prison  seven  times,  for 
those  are  the  number  of  cattle  he  took  from 
me ;  but  he  is  a  white  man,  and  I  an  Indian. 
You  are  a  rich  nation.  You  have  conquered 
a  brave  people.  We  do  not  want  to  fight. 
The  white  man  has  taken  away  everything.  1 
hope  some  day  the  white  man  will  do  justice 
to  the  Indian.  I  want  to  say  that  I  only  ask 
for  justice. 


SAMUEL,    AN    ARAPAHOE.  21 

They  tell  me  that  your  nation  is  governed  by 
the  will  of  the  people.  After  much  thought, 
I  make  out  that,  because  the  white  man  has 
learned  your  will,  he  can  steal  from  the  Indian, 
he  can  ruin  his  home,  he  may  kill  him ;  but  the 
law  that  you  use  will  not  punish  the  white  man. 
I  do  not  see  that  we  have  been  benefited  in  the 
least  by  all  your  laws.  Is  this  your  will  ?  I 
want  to  say  again  that  I  only  ask  for  justice. 
Give  the  Indians  an  even  chance  with  the 
white  men.  Treat  them  as  men  and  women. 
I  can  say  no  more.  I  speak  to-day ;  perhaps 
to-morrow  I  die. 


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